


he's with the band

by TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Butt Plugs, Come Eating, Coming In Pants, Creampie, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Kink Discovery, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Painplay, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Spit As Lube, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard/pseuds/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard
Summary: since the start, he's been their biggest fan.tonight, they'll all be his biggest fan.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han, Bang Chan/Hwang Hyunjin, Bang Chan/Lee Felix, Bang Chan/Seo Changbin, Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin | I.N
Comments: 15
Kudos: 385
Collections: SKZ Fuckfest





	he's with the band

**Author's Note:**

> written for round two of skz fuckfest, filling prompt #170.
> 
> enjoy.

**track 1.**

**intro.**

“holy shit, it’s freezing,” chan grunts out between chattering teeth. every word falls out of his mouth in a billowing, white cloud but only half of it is cigarette smoke. the rest is his own hot breath meeting the cold march air.

“get a little bit closer, then,” hyunjin carelessly suggests. "warm up."

“i’m already sitting right next to you,” chan states. he punctuates his statement by nudging hyunjin in the side with his elbow. hyunjin responds by snaking an arm around chan’s waist. he pulls the two of them closer together, ribcage to ribcage. then he leaves his hand on chan’s hip long enough for chan to guess that the contact is purposeful. hyunjin draws back and sits up straight. they sort of have to sit this close, chan bargains. they’re sitting on the steps leading up to the venue’s back door, which means they are partially blocking the path of the musicians hauling their amps and instruments and equipment up the steps to the heat and noise indoors. chan’s teeth chatter again but he powers through it to inhale off his cigarette. “fuck, it’s cold.”

hyunjin props his cigarette between his lips before he shrugs off his big, puffy north face jacket and then drapes it over both of their knees.

it’s fucking snowing and the corner of the building definitely doesn’t block much of the icy wind but the two of them continue to sit on the old wooden stairs to get their nicotine fix in. it’s what addicts have to deal with in a no-smoking-indoors world. the cruelty. the inhumanity.

“won’t you freeze your balls off without this on,” asks chan. he runs a finger over the stitching of the red jacket across their legs. it’s not warming him up just yet but between this and his own thick hoodie, the cold is finally bearable.

“i’ll be okay, man,” hyunjin tells him. “i’ve got you under here. you’re hot.”

at that, chan turns to look up at him with a raised, questioning eyebrow. “bro.”

hyunjin meets his gaze head on and raises his own brow before he takes a long, slow drag off his cigarette. always playing coy, hyunjin goes, “what did i say?”

“nothing.” chan rolls his eyes. he knows hyunjin likes to tease but he hates that the man is so good at it, always quick with a statement that sends heat up chan’s neck. instead of focusing on the proximity of their faces, chan looks away and changes the subject, “can you at least give me a hint about tonight’s setlist?”

hyunjin flicks the ashes of his cigarette out across the snow. “nah,” he teases.

chan frowns at him.

hyunjin gives in immediately. “we’re going to play a new song tonight. and maybe it’s on the upcoming album.”

“shit, bro. an album?”

“our first one under the record label, yeah. we’ve been toying around with a new sound but i think there will be plenty of stuff that still feels like the old us, if that makes sense.” hyunjin puts his cigarette between his lips and inhales. he holds the smoke in his lungs for a second before he blows it all out through his nose. he’s handsome. devilishly so. and a single snowflake sits on top of his lashes. “we’re re-recording a few of our older songs too. now that we no longer play like shit.”

“that’s exciting,” chan lets him know. “like… for real… you’ve come so far. now you’re signed to a label and everything. it’s exciting to see you guys play again. you haven’t done any shows since that halloween thing last year.” the band had covered themselves in fake bruises and costume blood, even put in red contacts and vampire teeth and made a big show about biting each other’s necks between songs. it had been hot as fuck. chan asks, “how is being signed? is it the dream?”

hyunjin does not answer for a long, quiet minute. he stares up at the night sky and lets the snowflakes land across his face and in his short, black hair. “there’s so much more shit to deal with now. so many rules and expectations. so many eyes constantly watching and judging. it used to be us piling into jisung’s basement and recording shit and pumping out new songs whenever we fucking felt like it but now there are all of these corporate hurdles to jump through. all these fucking meetings. all these fuckwads in suits who can’t even play a c chord telling us what to do. i hate it. but i love it.” hyunjin pauses to take another drag off of his cigarette. “wouldn’t change it for the world.”

chan half-whispers, “you finally made it.”

hyunjin just hums in lukewarm agreement.

it is about an hour before the doors open for that night’s show, so maybe six in the evening or so, and the parking lot in front of the venue slowly fills with cars. on the other side of the chain-link fence, people line up outside the front doors, boots and gloves and jackets on, ready to pay the cover charge, have their hands stamped and get in out of the cold. “they’ll be waiting for ages. those are brave souls getting here so early in this weather,” chan comments after he checks his watch. 

“you’re also here early,” hyunjin says. 

“i work here,” chan clarifies. 

“oh, well excuse me,” hyunjin drawls, but his pout is playful. of course hyunjin knows chan works here. it was chan that got the band their first gig here, back in the beginning. hyunjin says, “fuck, we haven’t played here in months, man.” 

“too busy making your first real album,” chan jests.

hyunjin exhales smoke into the air and wistfully says, “at long last.” he points down the alley where they can barely make out the snowy street and the shopping center across the way. “that pizza place shut down?”

“you just noticed?” chan teases him. then his laughter peters out. “the owner started being really bitchy about people from the venue hanging out in the parking lot. he kept calling the cops on us. what he forgot about is that we may be noisy as fuck and hog all the tables for hours but we were also the majority of his business. we only boycotted the place for three months before he had to shut down.”

“boycotted?” hyunjin repeated.

“yeah. we told all of our regulars to steer clear of the place because it made no sense that he kept shooing us away. bet he wishes he wasn’t an asshole now.”

“you’re a piece of work, chan.”

“the boycott wasn’t my idea. it was minho’s. you know how petty he gets.”

“fucking brat,” hyunjin grins. but then his mood changes. his expression gets a bit sad. a little wistful. “good to be back, man. i missed it. the place feels like home. we’ve played here so much.”

chan joins him in the nostalgia. “so many memories.” it’s been a long three and a half years and chan likes to believe he’s the band’s biggest fan. or at least their most loyal. he was there for their very first show, after all. as messy as that was. and he was there for all of the other shows as well. as many as he could manage, at least. from coffee shop parking lots to high school homecoming games to city park music festivals to bars with no real stage to downtown theaters. now the band will start going on tours in a charter bus rather than in a shitty van and they will play big stadiums now and chan worries that his measly paychecks from the bar will not be enough to cover the cost of following the band around the country. the expensive tickets and travel costs and hotel stays. and, shit, if they go overseas...

“we’ll still try to play some local shows,” hyunjin says, as if he can sense chan’s spiraling train of thought. “we aren't gonna abandon our own turf. at least not while we’re still fresh faces. the album won’t be out until august at the earliest so we’ve got from now till then before we start a big tour with our labelmates.”

it’s a small consolation but a consolation nonetheless. if chan couldn’t see his faves anymore, shit would start getting tough. “i’ll go to as many as i can. support you guys until the end.”

an odd look crosses hyunjin’s face. worry knits his brows together but he says nothing.

“like… you guys won’t forget me, will you?”

“chan.”

“i’m not asking for a cut of the profits or anything but… we’ll still be friends when you’re playing sold out shows in europe, won’t we?”

“we aren’t gonna toss you.”

“i just don’t wanna miss a show.”

“you’re still our fan whether you come to one show or one hundred.”

and maybe it’s convincing. it gets chan to shut up and stop feeling sorry for himself. he takes a drag off of his cigarette and exhales smoke into the air. after a while, chan says, “i’ll try to get someone to cover for me while you guys play tonight. i gotta be in the pit when you do my favorite song.” then he looks over at hyunjin for the first time in a long while. “you are gonna play my favorite song, right?”

“insomnia?” hyunjin chokes out smoke but the cloud does not obscure the shock on his face. “shit. shit! maybe we can tack it on as an encore. shit.”

chan doesn’t want to be a burden. “if it’s that much trouble--”

“don’t worry about it,” hyunjin cuts him off. “it’s no trouble. and even if it was, we’d go through it for you, chan.”

“that’s… sweet.”

hyunjin chuckles, smoky and low. “don’t make it romantic or i’ll propose.” he flicks the depleted cigarette out into the alley and it sails through the air in an arc of orange cinders.

chan blows a dismissive raspberry and stares up at the swirling snowflakes as they flutter through the gray night sky.

with jinyoung gone, chan’s the new sound engineer at the venue. he’s responsible for keeping audio levels in check and controlling all of the stage lights when the bands are on stage. it gets hectic keeping everything balanced but chan likes the challenge and the accomplishment that comes with making an okay show a great one. it’s going to be a fun night, chan hopes. a lot of good bands are on the playbill. he says, “i think that new band has promise. the one with the girl on keyboard?”

“they’re fun. they've got a stupid name, though.” hyunjin shifts a little next to him. he leans backwards and twists his torso in a stretch that makes a bone in his spine pop. hyunjin throws his head back and gasps salaciously and chan can’t help but watch the alluring bob of the man’s adam’s apple. the erotic swipe of his tongue across his lips.

chan makes himself look away before he gets caught. “shit, it’s so goddamn windy.” beneath the puffy jacket, chan rubs his hands together and the friction warms his palms. he is reminded that he’s not wearing gloves. then again, he only came out here to prop the doors open for the bands. he did not expect hyunjin to be out here and he definitely did not expect the man to invite him down the stairs for a quick smoke. chan braves the cold air to slip a hand from beneath the jacket to tug his cigarette from between his lips. “one of these days,” chan says, “you guys will headline a show. maybe even play coachella or some shit.”

“yeah, yeah,” hyunjin mumbles noncommittally.

chan snuffs his cigarette out in the snow on the stair next to him and then curls up beneath the jacket again. it finally feels like it’s collecting warmth. he no longer shivers. “we have to walk two blocks down for good pizza now. did you know that?”

“yeah, yeah,” hyunjin repeats monotonously.

chan can tell hyunjin’s attention is waning. with the cigarette gone, there’s nothing for hyunjin to keep his hands busy. he fidgets. his gaze is a bit unfocused and he keeps jostling his knee against chan’s. must be nerves. and it’s a little funny because chan thought the band had made it to a point where they were no longer nervous before a show. maybe there is no such point. perhaps there are always nerves. chan bends over hyunjin a little to make a silly face at him to lighten the mood but he does not get that far.

“what the fuck,” booms a voice.

chan and hyunjin both startle and look up.

“what are you two doing under there?” jisung stands on the stair in front of them. he tsks and, with a mischievous grin, yanks the jacket off of their laps. chan’s hands are clasped between his knees. hyunjin has his hands propped on his thighs. “oh,” jisung says. he draws the syllable out like he is genuinely disappointed.

the cold of the night hits chan hard and he yanks the jacket out of jisung’s hands so that he can drape it over his legs again. he asks, “what the fuck, bro?”

“i’m just messing with you. for fuck’s sake,” jisung complains. it may just be the orangish light of the lamp beside the door casting strange shadows but it looks as if jisung has done up his makeup a little. some eyeliner. some nose contour. a touch of eyeshadow. maybe some glitter on his eyelids. in his hair. he bares his teeth in an attempt at aggression. “can’t take a joke?”

hyunjin curls into chan’s side a bit and pulls the jacket partially across his own lap. “what the fuck did you think we were doing?”

“saw some suspicious movement,” jisung announces. his coat looks too big for him and his neck and chin practically disappears beneath the folds of his scarf.

“suspicious?” chan repeats. 

jisung turns to look at hyunjin. “thought chan was jerking you off under there.” and he says it loud enough to draw the raised-eyebrow attention of the tattooed girls smoking at the top of the stairs.

“like he’d let me,” chan snaps. 

jisung shrugs. “i just call it like i see it, bro. you two are wedged in pretty close.” 

“we’re trying to stay hot,” hyunjin explains.

“and there’s a lot of people around,” says chan. he looks at the people in the alley behind the venue. one of the security guys shovels slushy, icy snow off the path. dudes from the other bands drag instrument cases out of vans. merch girls haul plastic containers full of shirts and pins and stickers and cds between them. there is movement and sound everywhere, chan realizes. not the ideal place to have a cock in his hand. “fuck off, jisung,” he says, full of love.

jisung swats chan across the back of the head. “pour me a drink.”

chan raises a hand to smooth down his dark curls. “i don’t work the bar anymore.”

both hyunjin and jisung go, “really?”

perhaps it's actually been that long since they last played here. he hasn’t been the bartender for months. “i’m the sound guy now,” chan announces. he giggles at their stunned, wide-eyed expressions. chan checks his watch. he’s got his own preparations to make before the show starts so he should not still be out here shivering his ass off. “but if you want a drink, i can hook you up after the show. my treat.”

jisung nods. “give me something with plenty of peach.” and then he circles around them to go up the stairs.

he’s not even out of earshot when hyunjin sits up, presses his pink mouth to chan’s ear and whispers, “i’d let you.”

chan is in the middle of standing up to go inside but he stiffens and looks over at him, confused. “let me do what?”

“jerk me off,” hyunjin supplies. 

**track 2.**

**hyunjin, bass/backup vocals.**

chan flops back down on the stairs heavily. boneless. his ears fucking ring. “huh?”

“get me off.” how the fuck does hyunjin make a request like that sound so low-risk and innocent? like he’s asking chan to get him taco bell while he’s out? “don’t you wanna?”

“yea--” chan stops himself. his vision tunnels briefly as his mind fogs over and the first spike of lust hits his veins. his initial thought is that he’s dreaming because what he’s always dreamed of can’t actually be happening. can it? but then the wind blows hard and sends his teeth chattering and he knows that this is real. chan blinks. refocuses. there is something about the overly confident way hyunjin looks at him, head cocked and lips slightly parted like he fully expects to get his way. the dude is fucking serious. not a joke in sight. chan swallows hard. common sense temporarily wins out. “here? now?”

hyunjin’s right hand prods at chan’s left hand beneath the jacket. he grabs chan’s fingers tight and guides chan’s palm up his denim-clad thigh and across his crotch where he is half hard and twitching. “yeah. here. now.”

“really,” chan asks breathlessly, as if he still needs permission with hyunjin pulling his hand along his length.

“really,” hyunjin insists.

chan gives the shape beneath his hand a tentative squeeze. then, with a bit more confidence, he more firmly gropes like he needs to get his proper fill. his proper feel. he lets his palm measure the length and the curve of hyunjin’s cock. slightly above average-sized, he imagines. narrow and curved. he would love to actually hold it in his hand, though. squeeze it and taste it. hyunjin gets harder and harder beneath chan’s prodding fingers. the angle is weird because of how they are sitting and chan definitely does not want to move too much in case he dislodges the jacket and reveals their illicit act to everyone in the alley but he can’t stop himself from moving his hand downward and gently cupping hyunjin’s balls.

“careful,” hyunjin purrs into his ear. “don’t make it look too obvious.”

and chan wants to say that hyunjin is the one who makes it obvious with his fluttering eyelashes, tiny little sighs and bitten bottom lip. instead, he says, “okay,” and slows the movement of his hand.

slower is better, he discovers. because his fingers can trace and memorize the shape of hyunjin’s cock beneath the denim and every time it twitches and jumps, it pushes against his thumb. still, there is a limit to the research he can do by touch and feel. many questions can only be answered without the layer of denim in the way. is hyunjin cut or uncut? how pink is his cock? how low do his balls hang? but for the moment, chan enjoys being able to touch. he revels in the heat between hyunjin’s legs for a while, thankful for a fresh escape from the cold. hyunjin moves his hips subtly, like he’s merely adjusting his pants or something, but each shallow thrust pushes his cock more firmly against chan’s hand. 

“you hungry?” the question is out of the blue.

chan blinks up at him, unsure if it’s a question with double meaning. “yeah.”

hyunjin says, “get you something to eat before the show.”

and chan nearly forgets that they are surrounded by people--strangers--and that there is at least a minimum level of deception required here. he slides his thumb along the side of hyunjin’s cock and says, “i’ll get something from the bar. there’s always fried chicken.”

hyunjin’s eyes dart up and over. chan turns his head, follows the indicated direction until he spots the girl out for a smoke only two stairs above them.

ahh, that’s why. 

her attention is focused entirely on her phone which urges chan to resume his ministrations, pressing down hard on hyunjin’s cock. he feels the heat of it under his hand, feels the way it twitches between his fingers. he wants to know if he’s doing a good job, if hyunjin can really feel what he’s doing, but neither of them can make much noise. all chan has to go off of are hyunjin’s half-lidded eyes and slightly parted lips.

“have you eaten yet,” chan turns the inane question back on him.

“we stopped at the pancake house on the way up here,” hyunjin smoothly answers. his voice is sure and steady as if he isn’t getting his cock stroked. “nothing better than breakfast for dinner.”

behind them, the girl finishes her cigarette and walks the rest of the way up the stairs to go inside.

the relief between them is palpable and chan rewards hyunjin by pressing down harder on his cock. he works his fingers in smooth loops around the head. hyunjin rewards him in return with a low, choppy hum.

that’s how chan works him for a while. he cranks up the heat of friction with the movements of his thumb before massaging hyunjin’s cock with his palm. soft, teasing touches that quickly transform into heavy, flattening presses. like he’s kneading dough.

the denim is a frustratingly unnecessary layer between them but attempting to remove it will be dangerous so chan works around the barrier; he works through it with the movement of his fingers.

“god, you’re so easy,” hyunjin taunts. “i ask something like this and you don’t put up a fight.”

heat rises to chan’s cheeks. he stiffens and attempts to pull away his hand.

“no, no.” hyunjin grips chan’s wrist to keep him from running away. “continue.” it’s partially a desperate plea and partially a command.

regardless, chan indulges. he wraps his fingers back around the bulge of hyunjin’s cock and strokes him in rhythmic motions.

hyunjin goes on, “makes me wonder how many months i could have had you doing this for me if only i had asked sooner.” then his serious expression melts into a lazy, blissed-out smile.

“you’re making fun of me,” chan hisses. 

“only a little.” hyunjin nudges him with his elbow. “you could have said no.”

“i didn’t want to.”

“you could have hesitated a bit more.”

“what’s wrong with being eager?”

they hold eye contact for a while but it’s more intimate than chan is ready for. he makes himself look away and focuses only on the heat of friction against his palm and the periodic tensing of the muscles in hyunjin’s thigh. he knows he is doing a good job when hyunjin opens his mouth and wordlessly exhales, his breath turning to clouds around their heads. hyunjin weakly thrusts his hips up against chan’s hand so chan applies a bit more pressure as he circles his thumb across the head of hyunjin’s cock. how good would it be if chan can make him cum like this?

two guys rush down the stairs next to them, laughing and roughhousing. one nearly slips on the ice. 

their proximity, their noise… it’s a sudden danger and chan’s hand stills.

hyunjin attempts to remedy the situation by rocking his hips forward but when chan still doesn’t move, hyunjin lifts a hand from beneath the jacket so he can clamp it down on chan’s shoulder. “chan.” it’s all he says. little more than a mewl in chan’s ear.

“fuck.” chan snaps out of it. he’s not sure anyone’s ever said his name like that. he pushes down on the denim with his middle and ring fingers and traces the curve of hyunjin’s erection up and then down, up and then down. then he rolls his palm more heavily across the bulge, from the balls to the tip like he’s trying to fucking pump hyunjin’s cum out. he wishes they were alone. he wishes he could work hyunjin’s zipper down and pull away his underwear and take hyunjin’s cock in his hand and milk it till it runs dry. he wishes. he wishes. but he only has this and it has to be enough.

“what else can i make you do if i ask you,” hyunjin wonders, smirking. “how eager will you be for the rest of me?”

chan repeats, “you’re making fun of me.”

“partially,” hyunjin pants. “but it's funny how quickly you gave in.”

chan whirls towards him. he does not know whether to defend himself or wait for the next set of instructions. what comes out of his mouth is a mix of both. “you needed help.” and he must press down on hyunjin’s cock just right because the man trembles and falls sideways against him.

hyunjin grunts out, “do you just help anyone and everyone who asks?”

and it’s the kind of question chan does not know how to answer because he’s never been asked it. but then… it’s not like he goes around jerking off every dude who asks. it’s just that he’s wanted to hold hyunjin’s cock in his hand for years now. it’s a bit of a… mild crush. “you asked nicely. kind of.”

hyunjin laughs at that. he pulls the jacket a bit higher up over their hips but it does not hide much. chan’s movements are conspicuous, even to his own eyes, and he knows that any of these people standing out here only have to watch them for a few seconds to figure out what they’re up to. 

chan worries if jisung will come back and snatch the jacket away again. no one’s taken any clothes off so perhaps they can explain it away but what will jisung think of him, chan wonders, if he catches the two of them like this?

what will anyone else think if they catch chan like this?

yet beneath the panic, under the very real threat of getting caught, this all feels good. pleasant. chan realizes his own cock is getting hard just from the thought of helping hyunjin get off. he wants hyunjin to reach over and help him too. he needs hyunjin’s touch like a man on fire needs water but he’s too embarrassed to ask for it, too afraid that hyunjin will deny him the pleasure. but maybe… maybe just maybe, chan wants to ask and be rejected. maybe he wants to beg.

a member of one of the bands comes up the stairs with his guitar case in one hand and a bag of mcdonalds in the other. he is talking to a friend already at the top of the stairs and his distraction causes the corner of his guitar case to box chan across the ear. “oh, shit, sorry,” the man grunts out.

chan just looks up at him wide-eyed for a moment. the hit knocks some sense into him and reminds him of where he is and what he’s doing. sheepishly, he says, “it’s alright. didn’t hurt too much.”

the man is blissfully ignorant to what chan is up to beneath the north face jacket. “want my fries? i hate ‘em.”

chan is about to say no. he doesn’t want to take his hand off hyunjin’s cock in case he won’t get the chance to put his hand back on it. he sucks in a breath to answer.

“i’ll take ‘em,” hyunjin sings out. he leans across chan to hold out a hand.

sure, chan’s hand is on the man’s crotch but they are closer than they’ve ever been now. their body heat mingles beneath the jacket. hyunjin’s neck is damp with sweat despite the cold and chan inhales the faint scent of his citrusy cologne and barely resists the urge to tilt his head forward and suck a mark into hyunjin’s jaw.

while the musician sets down his guitar case and fishes the carton of fries out of the fast food bag, chan keeps rolling his hand over hyunjin’s cock. with hyunjin leaning so close to him, practically draped across him, he doesn’t have to reach as far to touch and grab and stroke and squeeze. the situation feels incongruous. almost comical. it doesn't match up. hyunjin shoves a handful of fries in his mouth and moans while chan can’t even tell if the sound was caused by the fries or by the movement of his hand.

he hates that he can’t tell. he hates that his own erection aches and that he’s not even brave enough to touch it even though it is his own.

the guy who brought them the food says, “see you guys later,” and carries his guitar case up the stairs and into the building.

“here,” hyunjin says. he holds a few fries in front of chan’s mouth and he has no choice but to open up and let hyunjin feed him.

the fries are good. greasy and crunchy and salty. hot, still, despite the cold weather.

hyunjin licks salt off of his thumb and mumbles, so softly that chan almost does not hear him over the noise of his own chewing, “i’m gonna cum.”

and it’s a bit of a surprise because of how well hyunjin has hid his pleasure, how he’s kept his face so straight despite the tremors that race up his torso.

once again, chan wants to ask hyunjin to touch him too. to share the risk and get him off. he wants to ask. he even trails a hand over his own crotch so he can shiver as the tingles of arousal sit in his gut. “hyunjin,” he attempts, “can you touch--”

“gonna cum,” hyunjin repeats. nearly too loud. he swallows down a moan, squeezes his eyes shut and commands, “faster.”

so chan works his hand harder and faster. he focuses his rubbing at the head of hyunjin’s cock but when hyunjin sucks a pained hiss between his teeth, chan works his hand down the shaft towards the base. 

that works better for hyunjin. he bucks his hips up against chan’s hand, grunts low and choppy and then shudders as he cums. chan pushes his hand into hyunjin’s groin and feels the way hyunjin’s balls tighten up, feels the way his muscles tense and loosen, tense and loosen, as he spills into his pants.

it’s a quiet orgasm, it has to be because of where they are, but the pleasure sparks across hyunjin’s eyes and makes him suck his bottom lip between his teeth. chan watches hyunjin’s face the whole time, not even wanting to blink in case he misses something. the moment is short-lived and understated but it’s beautiful and chan keeps working his hand. it takes a moment for it to seep through the material, but he can feel the dampness of hyunjin’s cum on his palm now. even then, he keeps moving his hand, keeps going until he feels hyunjin’s cock shrink beneath his fingers and hyunjin whines from the oversensitivity and slides away.

the movement takes the north face jacket with him and chan’s legs are exposed to the full brunt of the evening cold once more. it isn’t until then that chan realizes just how hot the two of them have gotten beneath the jacket. the cold wind is almost a relief.

“can you…” return the favor, chan wants to ask. “can you--” chan’s voice trails off. he can’t even ask! he doesn’t have the nerve to, despite what he's just done. he runs a hand over his crotch and surprises a moan out of his own mouth at the contact but he belatedly remembers that the jacket no longer covers him. he draws his hand back and sighs in frustration. he will have to handle himself later.

hyunjin recovers from his orgasm like he’s waking up from a good nap. he blinks his eyes rapidly as if to bring them back into focus and he clears his throat and stretches out a leg, like the past twenty minutes are something he has to shake off, play off. his smile drifts back onto his face and he holds the carton in his hand beneath chan’s nose. “more fries?”

  
  


**track 3.**

**interlude.**

chan climbs up the snow-covered stairs and walks into the heated interior of the bar in a bit of a dreamy, horny, french fry fueled daze. the last twenty minutes replay endlessly in his head like a tape on loop. different details sing out to him each time: how hyunjin presses his hips upward against chan’s hand, how hyunjin huffs his name, how hyunjin deliberates over what deplorable act he can get chan to do next. chan feels overheated even though he just came from outside where it’s freezing. his palm is hot and slightly chaffed from the burn of the denim, his nerves still fire the imprint of hyunjin’s cock under his hand to his brain, and when he shuts his eyes, he sees hyunjin’s face wracked with need and pleasure. 

it’s a face he’s wanted to see hyunjin make for years. 

it’s a face he’s wanted to make hyunjin make for years.

the victory is sweet like nectar. but bitterness sinks in when chan remembers that hyunjin’s cum did not make it to his tongue or down his throat. a regrettable waste.

the backstage area is packed with musicians as they haul their instrument cases and amps to the waiting room with it’s old couches and wobbly coffee tables. chan is only vaguely aware of the crowd of people around him. of the brick walls and the mirrors and the framed and autographed posters. he walks out of the back hallway and into the main room but he’s still only marginally cognizant of his surroundings. of the wooden tables and chairs pushed into too-tight rows in the corners to make room for the pit. of the lights that glow behind the shelves and shelves of liquor bottles at the bar. it’s all a blur of neon color out of the corners of his eyes as his body warms up from the cold night outside. as he frantically searches for a quiet place he can go to jerk off.

“chan.” it is jisung who stands in front of him, hand on his arm. a look of concern is on his face and his big, dark eyes reflect the overhead lights like stars. “everything alright? you’re red in the face.”

“everything’s fine,” chan says. because it’s not like he just made a man cum in his pants five minutes ago. “just cold.”

“you wanna go for a round of pool?” jisung jerks a thumb over his shoulder. he has discarded his coat and scarf. his black t-shirt is too small and too tight and clings to him like a second skin. it reveals the curves and planes of a surprisingly muscular body.

he is gorgeous and (chan was right) he is wearing rather intense makeup, but now is not the time to ogle. “in a minute,” chan huffs. he can’t handle this right now. he is on the verge of short-circuiting.

“i know doors are about to open, but one quick game before sound check. what do you say, bro?” jisung shifts his weight from one leg to the other. his leather pants squeak due to the movement and the sound draws chan’s attention downwards. does the guy have a hard on or is that just an unfortunate fold in the material?

chan lifts his gaze. he wipes his nose but he does it with his left hand and accidentally force feeds his senses the musky smell of hyunjin’s sweat and lust and cologne. an aching reminder that all of that was not a dream. his cock responds with a twitch, fighting against the restraints of his pants like a prisoner shaking the jail bars. “i have to use the bathroom,” chan only partially lies.

“just find me afterwards,” jisung says. “treat me to a beer if i win.” 

“what do i get if i win?”

“you think you can beat me in pool?”

“yeah.”

“then i’ll treat you to whatever you fucking want if you win.” jisung turns and struts in the direction of the pool tables.

**track 4.**

**changbin, drums.**

chan watches those tight leather pants cling to jisung’s tiny little ass for a brief moment before he forces himself to look away. he can’t do this. it’s too much all at once. too many experiences back to back. he needs to get a hand around his cock before he does or says something stupid like take a swing at jisung’s ass, spank him in front of everyone. that’s his friend! his ole buddy, ole pal. known him since middle school and watched him grow up and start a garage band with his high school buddies! if his hard cock and caveman brain gets in the way of that, he’ll be devastated. once he gets rid of his goddamn erection, maybe then he’ll think clearly. chan rushes from one end of the building to the other, ducks into the narrow hallway behind the bar and slips into the men’s bathroom, desperate for release.

he doesn’t immediately see anybody at the sinks or at the urinals. the coast is clear. he unbuttons his pants, starts to tug down his zipper. he’ll just slip into a stall, he thinks as he walks, and cum in the toilet and get his head back on straight.

he’s about to pull his cock out of the slot in his boxers when he barely hears a sharp intake of breath off to his right. his hand stills. he’s been caught in the act, cock half out and half hard.

“chan?”

shit! someone who fucking knows him! that makes it worse. he tucks his cock back in his boxers, though it may be too late to hide. “yeah?” he looks over at whoever called his name and tenses when he sees changbin leaning against the graffiti-covered cement wall. changbin’s another member of his favorite band and the guy has spent many nights during those early days crashed out on chan’s couch while the rest of the band rehearses or chugs beers. changbin looks good tonight. he always looks good but he looks better right now. sexy and fuckable. his hair is spiked and styled. his eyeliner is messy and smudged. “changbin,” chan exhales like he’s naked and breathless. no. that’s his own hard cock commandeering all of his brain power. he tamps down his boiling horniness and clears his throat so that he can speak a bit more clearly. “i didn’t see you.” he scrambles to zip his pants back up only to realize he doesn’t really need to. “are… are you…” he lowers his voice to a whisper. “are--?” and he doesn’t know why he’s so scandalized when he was ten seconds away from doing the same thing. “are you jerking off?”

and it’s a redundant question because changbin clearly has his pants unzipped and pulled halfway down his muscled thighs. he clearly has the waistband of his colorful briefs tucked beneath his ballsack. he clearly has a hand wrapped around his veiny cock and pumps it up and down, methodical and slow. “i am,” changbin answers needlessly.

“why?” chan can’t help but ask.

“it’s fun,” changbin answers. “and even more fun with an audience.”

chan allows himself a quick look down. changbin’s got a decent cock. not all too long with no pronounced curve but it’s thick around like a bottle and framed by a dark tangle of pubic hair. the head is fat and reddish-pink and visibly sticky with precum like changbin’s already been at this for a while.

chan realizes he’s staring and hurriedly looks away. this is changbin, he reminds himself. one of his friends. maybe even one of his heroes. the two of them studied in high school together. played video games after school together. rummaged through music store bargain bins together, seeking out inspiration. chan focuses on the marker drawings and ink pen scrawls and slashes of spray paint on the wall for a long moment before he remembers where he is: at work. in public! chan spins around and goes down the line of stalls. one after another, he shoves open doors and peers inside.

“no one else is in here,” changbin shouts after him. “unfortunately.” his voice comes out high-pitched and shaky and soft.

chan exhales. “i’m in here.”

changbin replies, “so? i-- i like being c-caught.”

the length of the bathroom feels twice as long as usual as chan crosses the tile floor back to where changbin leans against the wall. his shirt has rucked up just enough for chan to see the sharp v of his hip bones, the trail of hair between changbin’s cock and his navel. chan stops just short of where changbin stands. to block changbin’s body from view, chan reasons, in case anyone else comes into the bathroom. “aren’t you going to stop?”

“no.” changbin doesn’t take his eyes off chan the entire time. doesn’t take his hand off his cock as he strokes himself. “feel free to stay and watch, though.”

chan’s face heats. he came in here to jerk himself off. he did not consider the possibility of being beaten to the punch by someone else. what are the chances?

changbin further extends the invitation. “care to join me, big boy?” he takes his hand off of his own cock long enough to gently poke at chan’s erection through his jeans.

the pressure is criminally light. barely enough to really feel like much of anything but also more than enough to remind chan of his own hardness. they could jerk off together--it would only take a few minutes--but he restrains himself. there’s no north face jacket to hide his horniness under. if anyone else comes into the bathroom, then his dick will just be out there. viewable. perceivable. and he doubts he’s brave enough to face that, but… even though the story may get back to his boss somehow, the idea of whipping his cock out is thrilling and the temptation to actually do it is low-hanging fruit.

changbin lets out this flighty, songbird chirp of pleasure and the sound yanks chan out of his spinning, useless concerns. he shamelessly lowers his eyes and watches changbin touch himself. while one hand fists his cock, changbin’s other hand splays through his treasure trail. then he drags his hand down, down, down and gently rolls his own balls between his fingers. one and then the other, then both of them squeezed tight in a fist. his other hand slows. he just barely manages to get his short, stubby fingers all the way around his thick cock. his calloused thumb drags at the skin beneath his cockhead and a tiny bead of precum leaks out of the slit. when chan looks up and makes eye contact, changbin’s face is flushed red and a tiny, shy smile tugs at his mouth. it’s as if he’s embarrassed that chan watches him so intently. but it’s also as if chan’s undivided attention fuels him further. 

“doors open soon,” chan says slowly, as if afraid he may spook changbin into running. his gaze drifts back down to changbin’s cock. “people are going to be in and out of here for the rest of the night.”

“that’s perfect, then,” is changbin’s throaty response. he bites down on his bottom lip and barely manages to hold back a deep-throated moan. “just gotta…” he grunts, “...work some of the nerves out. get… relaxed. before the performance...” his thighs shake and he plants his feet farther apart to keep himself upright.

it’s primal instinct that makes chan’s hand move before his brain actually sends the signal. he plants his hand on the corded muscle of changbin’s abdomen and it only takes a little bit more courage to slip it up beneath changbin’s shirt. it’s warm and damp under there with changbin’s body heat and sweat and he can feel each of changbin’s breaths as he inhales then exhales, inhales then exhales, his stomach expanding and contracting in time. the journey north is slow and sensual. his fingers trace along every ridge of changbin’s abs before they flick at the hard mounds of the man’s nipples.

changbin’s eyes shut briefly as he sighs. “no one ever touches me,” he says, like it’s a true pity. “i’ve always wanted someone to touch me.”

and chan almost pulls his hand away at that. he almost completely retreats. if this was some pervy stranger, he’d turn and run. he never would have gotten too far away from the door. but because it is changbin, he touches. he explores. his fingers trail away from changbin’s nipples and coast over the mounds of his solid pecs. he can feel changbin’s racing heartbeat and the vibrations thrum through his wrist. chan drags his hand farther up the man’s chest to his collarbone, then fights against the hem of changbin’s shirt to put his fingers to the man’s throat. when he looks into changbin’s face, he’s still staring at chan, getting off on all of the attention. it’s a heated moment that demands a kiss but there’s a line there somewhere that chan fears to cross. he breaks eye contact and focuses on his task. chan’s hand reverses it’s journey. down changbin’s chest. down the column of his thick torso. down the slope of his hip bones. when he wraps his hand around the head of changbin’s cock, the younger man practically melts against the wall. sags. moans.

“do you like it,” changbin asks. he drops his hand to give chan a chance to stroke the entire length.

“yeah,” chan answers honestly. “it’s so much thicker than mine.” but because his fingers are longer, he can wrap them around the girth of changbin’s cock and have his thumb and middle fingers touch. he squeezes as he strokes and delights in the keen way changbin bucks his hips forward.

“are you jealous,” changbin asks. his hands claw at the wall like he’s physically restraining himself.

“yeah,” chan keeps up his truthfulness. he wishes his own cock was a little thicker around. that it stood up a little straighter. like changbin’s. "i want it."

"then you can have it."

there’s noise in the hallway right outside the bathroom door. shouting and running and laughter. chan cowardly releases changbin’s cock, puts his hands behind his back as if that’ll maintain his innocence even though he’s still so clearly involved.

even before the noise outside fades, changbin grips his cock again and resumes stroking himself.

chan watches him in quiet amazement. watches how changbin twists his fist as he pumps his hips. watches as more precum oozes from his slit. before chan realizes it, he’s flattened his palm against the bulge of his own cock and his body burns with the desire to whip it out and join changbin. he yearns to press changbin up against the wall and hold him still while he grips both of their cocks in one of his hands. he longs to rut their cocks together. compare their sizes. cum together. but fear keeps him from undoing his zipper. fear of getting caught. fear of being shamed.

changbin possesses no such fear. he simply drinks in the lust in chan’s eyes as he strokes himself and coaxes a broken moan from his throat.

he’s close.

chan recognizes the new stiffness in changbin’s posture. the sudden increase in the tempo of changbin’s hand on his cock.

chan still feels like he’s in a trance. his brain still struggles to reconcile the fact that changbin’s cock doesn’t exactly look like he’s always imagined. the color is different. darker. the stripe of discolored skin around the middle from the circumcision is more stark than he thought it would be. his balls hang lower than chan has ever dreamed and he wants to cradle them in his hand. feel the weight of them. feel the tension in them as changbin cums.

realization hits him. chan whispers, “are you going to cum on me?”

“if you keep standing in the way, yeah.”

chan steps back. he hates that he can no longer feel changbin’s body heat or get as deep a whiff of changbin’s earthy smell as he’s been able to but at least his clothes are safer at this distance. he didn’t bring a spare in-case-you’re-used-as-a-cumrag hoodie with him.

changbin sighs and rises up on his tiptoes as the tension in him builds and builds.

it takes a second, but chan considers the fact that changbin cumming on the floor may be more unsanitary than changbin cumming on his clothes. snapping into action, chan goes towards the sink, towards the paper towel dispenser.

he gets all of three steps away before changbin makes a low croaking noise in his throat. a cuss. a bitten off name. there’s not enough time to make it to the dispenser and back. chan steps right up to changbin and holds his palm up beneath the head of changbin’s cock to catch his jizz. there are issues with this idea too, he discovers. if changbin shoots when he cums, it’ll still wind up all over chan’s hoodie and he’ll be back at square one.

there is exactly one way to get through this completely mess free.

chan drops to his knees between changbin’s spread feet. fast enough and hard enough that his legs hurt like hell when he hits the floor but he barely registers the pain as his cock throbs in anticipation. chan opens his mouth, lolls out his tongue and sucks the head of changbin’s cock into his mouth.

changbin startles at the unexpected warmth and opens his squeezed-shut eyes. “chan,” he chokes out. his eyes go wide as he watches chan work his mouth open wider and slurp changbin’s cock deeper into his throat. changbin leans forward, grabs a fistful of chan’s dark hair and shakily thrusts his hips forward.

chan barely has time to savor how full his mouth feels before changbin spills in his mouth. pulse after pulse of hot, salty cum coats chan’s tongue and nearly makes him choke as it clogs the back of his throat. but he fights his gag reflex and takes it. he takes it. he takes all that changbin has to give him until changbin whimpers and slowly pulls his wet cock out of chan’s dripping, sticky mouth.

“fuck,” changbin groans. his knees buckle and he slides down the wall to the floor in a heap. his big cock twitches with the aftershocks of his orgasm as it shrinks in his hand.

chan stands. he rushes to the row of sinks and coughs up changbin’s cum. nearly dry-heaves. it’s both tasteless and sour. he’d have swallowed it all but there’s just so much. so fucking much. it coats his throat and makes it hard to breathe and he gags as he spits up more and more until his airway is clear. then he runs the tap, bends over the counter and swallows water straight out of the faucet. it barely washes out the taste.

behind him, changbin stands on shaky legs and zips himself back up. smooths his shirt down. adjusts his pants. he sidles up to the same sink chan is using and dampens his hands beneath the flow of cold water. when he finishes, he goes to the paper towel dispenser to dry his hands and then chucks the wadded ball in the trash.

chan keeps the tap water running, if only to wash the last sticky bits of changbin’s cum down the drain. when he doesn’t see any more in the sink, he shuts off the water and the silence that fills the room is almost awkward.

changbin leans around him. “you still hard,” he asks plainly. “i’ll let you cum in my mouth. return the favor.” 

in response to the spectacular offer, chan’s cock jumps forward like it has a mind of its own. but even though he’s barely touched himself, chan just wants to get on his knees again, work changbin’s cock hard beneath his tongue and make him cum a second time. a more proper blowjob from start to finish this time.

taking his silence as permission, changbin snakes a hand down chan’s chest, across his belly and to his crotch. the touch is like fucking heaven but then there’s a loud shout from the other side of the door. a boisterous laugh. a heavy thump as someone falls against the bathroom door and nearly pushes it open. chan bolts upright and lunges away from changbin’s exploring hand. he waits and waits but no one seems to come into the bathroom. chan turns his attention back to changbin and asks, quietly, “if you suck me off, do you really want to get on stage tasting my cum?”

and he kind of means it as a degrading insult but changbin surprises him by saying, “yes, chan.”

chan’s heart jumps in his chest. his lungs seize and he nearly chokes. he barely manages to ask, “would you have done all of this with anyone else who walked through that door?”

“maybe. possibly. more than likely. i’ve been walked in on four or five times tonight already,” says changbin. he grins like it’s some new personal record he’s broken. then he steps close. “you’re the first one who didn’t run.”

they stand shoulder to shoulder and watch each other in their reflections in the big mirror for several long seconds. chan is so fucking horny but it’s not even his own body he wants to satisfy. he wants to be used by others. just like this again.

“you okay,” changbin asks. for the first time since chan caught him in the bathroom, he looks unsure of himself.

“yeah,” chan responds. he leans away to cough up into the sink one more time. when he spits, it’s mainly his own saliva. finally. “i’m usually a trooper and swallow, but…” he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth to clear a dribble of changbin’s cum that he missed. “there was just more of that than i expected.”

“i haven’t cum in days,” changbin offers as explanation. he puts a gentle hand on chan’s shoulder blades but reconsiders and drops his arm back to his side. “i knew about the show so i’ve been holding out for tonight. wanted to give it all to someone special.”

chan turns away from changbin’s reflection to look at the flesh and bone standing next to him.

“i was saving it.” changbin holds his gaze for a moment before he knits his brows and shakes his head like he cannot believe chan doesn’t live up to his expectations. “but too bad you didn’t keep any of it, chan. not even a drop.”

with that, changbin leaves the bathroom without looking back.

  
  


**track 5.**

**interlude.**

chan almost forgets that he’s promised jisung a game. he can’t even slip off somewhere private before jisung is at his side. the shorter guy catches him by the arm and tugs him towards the pool tables and refuses to take any of chan’s half-assed excuses. 

“haven’t seen you in weeks,” he says, “yet you keep blowing me off.”

chan wipes his sweaty forehead as his thoughts dip into the gutter. “i’ve got a lot to do.”

“and what about me? you think i’m here to fuck around for the rest of the night?”

chan feels thoroughly, properly scolded.

jisung says, “we still have half an hour before the first band gets on stage.”

“i’ve got sound check,” chan attempts.

“for fuck’s sake, bro. give me one round!” jisung yells and it’s tough to tell if the anger that clouds his face is part of an act or genuine.

chan relents. “okay. you got me. fuck. one game.”

the shift in jisung’s mood is instant. the anger melts away, replaced by a handsome, happy smile. he swats his black, glitter-covered hair out of his eyes and turns to grab their pool cues and chan tries not to watch him walk away. jisung doesn’t even have that much of an ass! but chan lets himself daydream about bending his friend over the pool table. he dreams of licking around jisung’s rim before slowly sliding his tongue inside. he wants to get him nice and sloppy and wet and then watch jisung fuck himself on chan’s fingers and it’s such a left field thought that chan stands there in mild horror and wonders when he’s ever started thinking of jisung that way.

it’s his cock, he reasons. it’s been hard for so long that it’s derailing the rest of his mental faculties.

“bro, we haven’t played here in so long,” jisung loudly complains. he places the necessary amount of coins into the slot and shoves in the handle. there’s a thunderous noise as the balls spill down the tube. “it’s almost like i don’t know the goddamn place.” jisung continues. “first, there’s the paint job. second, you’re not the bartender anymore and, most importantly, you’ve gotten rid of the ms. pac man machine? what’s the world coming to?” he hands chan a pool cue.

“it stopped working,” chan admits, “and it would have cost a shit ton to get the thing repaired.” 

jisung groans like it’s the end of the world. “my fucking high scores, man! even i couldn’t beat them. now they’re gone.”

“dude, it’s only a game.” almost like an afterthought, chan adds, “we still have the old marvel vs capcom and galaga and sonic the hedgehog, though.”

“but i don’t want to fucking play those. i want to play ms. pac man.” jisung racks up the balls with a showy flourish, chucks the plastic triangle aside and says, “you break.”

chan is still flustered and distracted. whenever he swallows, he tastes changbin’s bitter cum. whenever he opens his mouth to speak, it still kind of feels like changbin’s cock is on his tongue, pressed tight to the roof of his mouth. chan snaps out of his lusty stupor and looks up at jisung who watches his every move carefully, like he can smell the lust on chan’s skin. chan gulps (another taste of changbin) then approaches the pool table. he slides the white ball into place and tilts forward to line up the shot. his hands shake like leaves in the wind as he draws the pool cue back but the connection is solid and his aim is true. the balls break with a satisfying clatter but he doesn’t manage to sink a ball. “shit,” he gripes.

on the other side of the table, jisung calls out, “three ball, side pocket.” he threads the pool cue behind his back in a trick shot and sinks the ball easily. he circles around the table. his good mood puts a bounce in his every step. “number seven, corner pocket.” he shoots again. sinks another one.

the bar slowly fills with new noise. the doors are officially open now and the pierced and tattooed crowd trickles in, their hands stamped and their voices loud.

“shit, your turn,” jisung announces when he finally misses.

chan circles around the table but he does not have a clear shot at any fucking thing. the break left most of the balls in a tight cluster at one end of the table. “number fifteen, side pocket.” he sends the cue ball spinning in an arc but even when it knocks against number fifteen, the angle isn’t sharp enough to send it into the pocket. “fuck, man. i’m so rusty. haven’t played since the last time you were here.”

“you’ll get back into it. it’s only been a turn or two.” jisung nudges chan aside so that he can lean over the table to take his shot. “number one. corner pocket.” he shoots and misses.

chan presses his tongue into his cheek in concentration for a long moment before he sees a clear shot. “fifteen. corner pocket.” putting a bit of power behind it, he manages a solid ricochet and sinks the ball with a satisfying clap of thunder. “finally.”

“told you it’d come back to you,” jisung sing-songs.

chan calls his next shot, however, and misses.

jisung declares his next shot: “four ball, corner pocket.”

mind wandering, chan stands still like a statue. he’s partially paralyzed by disbelief. the thing with changbin was perhaps coincidence. anyone else who had gone into the bathroom would have spotted changbin with his cock out. and if anyone else had stayed, they would have been the one to taste changbin’s cum and maybe anyone else would have manned up and swallowed it. hyunjin, at least, had been more deliberate. he had specifically requested and chan had jumped at the chance. hyunjin specifically wanted chan. not just anyone. and that makes a bit of a difference.

chan snaps out of his thoughts just in time to watch jisung miss his shot. he lets loose a held breath and approaches the table. “ten. corner pocket.” this time when he goes for the shot, he sinks it. jisung applauds him. chan shakes a few more of his filthy thoughts loose and drags himself that much closer to the present moment. “number nine, side pocket.” it’s a cross-table shot and the angle isn’t favorable but he goes for it anyway. misses by a hair. sinks the cue ball instead.

jisung laughs at him. he brushes past chan to circle the table and that little bit of contact fucks chan’s life up. seriously! if he can just get a few minutes alone. all he needs is to push himself over the edge. he’s already nearly there. if he cums, he’ll be able to focus. every mild touch won’t send electric shocks of pleasure straight to his balls. 

entirely unaware of chan’s dilemma, jisung waits for the cue ball to drop, grabs it out the slot and walks around the table for his next shot.

chan can’t help but let his cock manhandle his brain again. he wants to see hyunjin a second time. maybe convince the guy to let chan blow him. he’ll swallow it that time, for sure. god, he’s so fucking horny and now isn’t the time. it feels like he’s been walking around with this erection for ages now. since he first got hyunjin off outside. and because of changbin, he never got the chance to bust a nut in the bathroom.

there is suddenly something solid at his crotch. it’s broad and flat and presses against his aching cock with enough force to knock him back a half step.

blinking, chan looks down. all he sees is a tight black shirt clinging to lean muscle, a thin stripe of tattooed skin, and then narrow hips strapped tight into leather pants. it’s jisung, he discovers, bending over directly in front of him.

“you didn’t have to push,” chan chastises. he yanks his eyes away from jisung’s little ass. “you could have asked me to move.”

jisung sits up and looks over his shoulder at him. “i did.” he turns around, bends back over the table and lines up his next shot. his ass fits perfectly against chan’s crotch.

chan bites back a moan and clutches the pool stick in his hands like a lifeline to keep himself from fucking thrusting forward and slamming his cock against jisung’s ass.

fucking hell. he’s going to lose it. he needs a breather.

at last, chan’s cock lets enough blood flow to his brain for him to conjure up an escape route. he stretches around jisung and lays his cue stick across the table. “opening act’s on stage. i have to get to the booth.”

“come on, bro,” jisung whines petulantly. “don’t be a fucking coward and take the loss like a man!”

the guitarist on stage starts tuning their guitar and the sound is horribly muddied and dim. chan turns away. “sorry, man, i really have to go.”

“you owe me,” jisung calls after him. “big time!”

“fine, whatever,” chan shoots back. “track me down after the band plays. i have a fucking job to do.”

jisung groans out his impatience but chan hardly hears him.

the bar has filled considerably since chan last looked. the pit is already a tightly-packed wad of leather jackets and mullets and band shirts and hot topic boots and neon hair. the building insulates the heat of all of those people and it only takes a minute of walking for sweat to collect in chan’s pits. it’s winter and it’s snowing outside but he may have to get his boss to lighten up on the heat. the first band hasn’t even played yet. it’ll be hell on earth in here by the time the night’s through. chan makes it through the crowd and reaches the staircase and he rushes up to the second level two steps at a time. like there’s a fucking fire on his ass. he fishes his work keys out of his pants pocket and unlocks the sound booth door.

**track 6.**

**felix, lead guitar.**

it’s deliciously dark and private and cool and claustrophobically tight and mildly humid like the depths of a cave. it’s a sanctuary and he dives into it. basks in it.

chan shuts the door behind him, yanks his hoodie off and hangs it on the hook by the door and then settles into the plush office chair in front of the blinking lights and knobs and screens of the consoles. the chair creaks beneath his weight and now that he is sitting, the new tightness in his pants reminds him that he’s still somewhat erect. if he can just get the first band’s sound set up, he can jerk off while they play and then be good to go for the rest of the night. or so he hopes. he slips on his headphones and adjusts the volume so he won’t blow his eardrums out. first, he kills the classic rock pumping out of the bar’s house stereo. then he works the control knobs on one of the machines until he can hear the guitarist’s playing loud and clear in his headphones. the sound is still muddy, like it’s coming from underwater or very far away. he’ll have to fix that. there’s a window at the front of the booth that gives chan a view of the pit and the stage down below. the guitarist looks up and spots chan’s silhouette behind the glass. he raises his hand and points to the ceiling. chan adjusts the master volume, increasing it incrementally until the guitarist gives him the thumbs up. then, as the man plays through a few basic chords, chan makes minute adjustments to the other sound levels, lowering the bass and getting that tinny whine out of the treble. the bassist starts playing now and chan makes similar adjustments to the sound. he raises the volume, levels out the crackles and pops on the high end, then fattens the low end until it vibrates the glass window in front of him. he gets another thumbs up from the musician on stage.

this is good, he thinks. this is brainless. he can zone out. meditate, almost.

the vocalist takes to the stage. they’re tall and charismatic and dominate the space even though they are standing still. he speaks into the mic, “testing, testing, check, check, check.” god that’s too loud. every ch- ch- ch- sends awful, static-y noise through the speakers and chan makes adjustments to the settings until the squealing stops.

as he gets the ear-splitting hiss out of the drummer’s cymbals, chan relaxes back in his chair and catches a deep breath for what feels like the first time in an hour. his erection’s died down, thank god, and the fog in his head has cleared enough that he feels like an actual human being again and not some prehistoric neanderthal who only knows how to procreate.

“fucking shit, man,” he whispers to no one. “it’s like they are leaving me unsatisfied on purpose.”

it’s a conspiracy! they must be ganging up on him.

chan snorts. he is being dumb. he just needs to keep his fucking head clear and everything will be fine in the end.

with the sound levels under control, chan rolls his chair to the end of the table and twists the knobs on the wall to dim the house lights and bring up the stage glow.

immediately, the anticipatory roar of the audience thunders up to the booth and makes everything tremble like there’s a lightning storm inside of the building.

the show is about to start.

chan’s locked away in his own little hovel but excitement still sings through him, still makes him grin and laugh like he’s on top of the world. this is what he loves about shows. this is what he loves about music. a whole room full of people getting hype just from a few stray chords and some dimming lights. chan hears the vocalist start talking, hears him introduce the band. then the song starts like a punch to the gut and chan closes his eyes and listens to it. he loses himself a little in the guitar and the bass and the drums, the smooth vocals and bouncy rhythm. then he pulls himself out like he’s swimming to the surface of a pool. he gulps for air. the sound’s perfect. layered. full of kick. he can relax for the next half hour.

he sighs and stretches back in his chair and stares up at the ceiling of the booth. he’s got some soul-searching to do, he figures, because where on earth did thoughts of fucking his childhood friend come from? as many years as he’s known jisung and he’s never thought of putting his cock up the man’s ass. lusting after hyunjin is acceptable, though. the dude is just that hot and knows it and constantly shows it off and his playful naughtiness keeps him cycling through hookups and relationships. having a thing for changbin is fine. he’s so beefy. his muscles are so thick but he still has such a cute face and he was valedictorian in their high school which no one believes but chan remembers because he was there for the graduation. though chan never pegged him for being a little kinky. then again, he never pegged changbin for having a beer can cock either so there’s that. felix is as devilish as a minx but is such a prankster and chan has definitely daydreamed about hearing his own name grunted back in his ear in the man’s low, silken voice. and even jeongin has his moments of surprising sexiness now that he’s grown into his face a bit and carries himself with more confidence. but jisung? jisung is supposed to be safe and innocuous and benign. he’s supposed to be a comfort in chan’s life, like a home cooked meal, but instead, jisung’s suddenly got chan hot under the collar--steaming!--wanting to fuck him up against the wall even with that flat little ass of his.

it’s no surprise that chan’s half-hard again. and it’s even less of a surprise that chan does not hesitate before he unzips his pants and tugs his cock out through the slot of his boxers. it’s dark in the booth and there’s enough light coming off of all of the machines that he can just barely see the outline of his cock. it’s a nice shape, he likes to think. not as thick around as changbin’s or as long as hyunjin’s but it’s slim enough that it fits in his hand just right and it isn’t overly crooked. it thickens up around the middle a bit before it tapers off to a pale pink mushroom cap. even as he sits there and watches it, his cock hardens in time with each pump of his heart until it stands fully erect. he traces his index finger along the veins from base to crown before he tightens his fist around the head and just that little bit of pressure has his nerves crackling with pleasant tingles and he arches his back off of the chair. yes! that’s the stuff. fuck, he’s needed this. he loosens his fist so that he can slowly grind his hip upwards into it and he can’t help the croaky sigh that leaps out of his throat.

fuck. there’s too much friction. too much drag. he takes his hand off his cock and spits into his palm before he tries again. the slide is mildly easier and his thighs shake with exertion as he thrusts up into his hand. still too much friction. too much heat. a little bit of lube would be nice. or lotion. but spit’s the only thing available so he hawks more onto his palm and slides his hand down his cock. instinct makes him want to stroke himself fast and cum before the song ends but he has the band’s whole set to play with himself. and with that in mind, he takes his sweet time dragging his fist to the head of his cock then back down to the base and then upwards to the tip again. he flicks his wrist in a circle, tugging on skin, and arousal ripples through his chest and down to his balls. his eyes shut and his toes curl in his shoes. he parts his lips and lets a husky cuss slip out of his mouth.

chan barely hears it through the music in his ears but his brain still alerts him to a noise behind him. was that… the sound booth door clicking shut? he opens his eyes and spins around in his office chair but there’s no one there. why would someone be there? he’s usually the only one who comes up here during shows and he locked the door. didn’t he? didn’t he? there’s a lot of expensive equipment in here so he locked the door, right?

his cock is more important, though. he returns his attention to it.

he slides his spit-wet hand up his length, tightens his fingers around the head and drags his fist down to the base. shit, that feels good. he doesn’t even want to properly jerk himself off. not yet. he just wants to massage and explore, wring every ounce of delight out of this. he’s got the whole night, if he paces himself. he can last if he’s careful about it.

gently, he tells himself. slowly. soft and steady.

he eases up his grip and concentrates on the slide of his fist up and down his skin. his veins pulse against his palm.

chan tips forward in the chair and gets more spit going. a wad of it slowly drips off his tongue and, like a pendulum, hangs in the air between his mouth and his cock for several perilous seconds. then the tension in the string of moisture snaps and the wad of spit lands on his cockhead. his fingers drag at the dampness and stretch the wet down the sides of his cock.

the neanderthal caveman brain is back, though, and chan’s thoughts flood with images of pretty pink lips wrapped around the head of his cock. but wouldn’t it be even better if he had a slick, puckered up hole that he can stuff full with his cum? he thrusts his hips up and shoves his cock into his fist. once. twice. three times in rapid succession. the office chair creaks beneath his shifting weight.

but then the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. moving air ghosts across his nape like someone has just moved right behind him.

chan spins in his chair again. even though the room is dark, it’s small enough that he’d see anyone else if they were inside. there’s no one. there’s no one! so why does his skin crawl like he’s being watched?

he relaxes back into the chair. spits onto his palm again and slowly pumps his cock.

the music that filters into his head is abruptly cut off as his headphones are snatched off his ears.

chan half-screams. his whole body goes stiff. he spins the chair in the other direction and watches felix set the headphones down on the table next to the machines. 

“hey, chan. haven’t seen you in a while,” felix says. he grins like he isn’t hovering above chan while he’s got his cock out. “i got my eyebrow pierced. have you seen? of course you haven’t. you’re never on instagram. look at it.” he pushes his silvery, pastel purple hair off of his freckled forehead to show off his jewelry. even in the dimly-lit room, the studs in his skin glint like starlight.

“it’s nice,” chan says slowly, fist still tight around his cock. 

“you’re nice,” felix giggles shyly. he works his fingers through his hair until he gets it to stay swept back and away from his face.

chan’s heart pounds in his chest and he can feel his racing pulse through the veins in his cock. does felix not see what he’s doing? it’s not that dark in the booth. but if felix isn’t going to bring it up, he won’t, either. “you look good tonight.” 

and felix does look good. and that’s not chan’s cock saying that even though chan can look down and see precum bubbling at his slit and then look up and see felix’s face. felix looks good. the younger man’s angular cheekbones make him look hot and mysterious in the odd lighting and his skin is damp with sweat. felix’s striped shirt clings to his lean frame and the tears and rips in his skinny jeans expose hairy, freckled thighs and a tattooed calf.

“hyunjin told me you work the sound booth now,” felix says casually. he turns, puts his back to chan and leans over the worktable a bit to peer out the window to the stage below. the performing band moves into their third or fourth song of the night while the crowd goes wild with shouts and cheers. felix continues, “since you’re no longer behind the bar, i guess that means no more free beer off the tap?”

“i can still pull some strings,” chan offers. his voice comes out as a croak.

“oh?”

“i’ve worked here for years. i have a little bit of say.”

“used to getting your way, huh?”

“i guess.” it’s like a dream. is chan in the clear? felix is really letting him off the hook here. even has his back turned to give chan a mimicry of privacy. the tension seeps out of his spine and he relaxes back into the creaky chair. chan’s hands go clammy with lingering adrenaline which makes it difficult for him to fold his softening cock back into his boxers without fumbling with it.

“don’t you dare put it away, chan,” felix says to the window.

unsure of what felix means exactly, chan tries to zip his pants back up.

felix turns around swiftly. “what did i just say, chan?” he slaps his hand down hard on chan’s wrist, knocking his hand away from his crotch.

chan sits there stunned--gasping--and watches in curiosity and arousal and panic as felix’s tiny, slender fingers pull down his zipper. he tugs chan’s half-flaccid cock back out. felix’s palms are soft and warm as he runs his hands up chan’s cock but his fingertips are hard and calloused and catch on chan’s sensitive skin.

they make eye contact and chan immediately knows that felix knew the whole time. that felix was probably standing right behind his chair since he snuck in, watching chan jerk off.

it makes chan’s face go hot. it makes his dick harden again.

and felix’s touch is so light, so delicate. the softness aches! but it gets chan going nonetheless. felix’s grip on chan’s cock is purposefully light as he moves his fist around the head. chan limply thrusts upwards but that just makes felix pull away completely, taking the blessed heat of his hands with him.

“you filthy boy,” felix admonishes. “getting caught jerking off. aren’t you ashamed?” he swings his hand and lightly slaps chan’s cock. it sways back and forth before it stands erect again. his voice drops an octave before he growls out, “pig.”

not the words chan expects to hear out of quiet, well-behaved felix. he lifts his arm and attempts to put his hand back around his cock. he’ll just put it away and try to shoo felix out of the booth so he can--

“no. bad chan. bad boy,” felix coos in a lilting voice. like he addresses a misbehaving puppy. “you lost the privilege of touching yourself.”

the instructions do not exactly register in chan’s lust-addled brain. a second ago, he had wanted to put his cock away, now he tries to stroke it, but--

felix’s hand flies out. he slaps chan’s cock again.

chan draws his hand back and hisses. when he looks up at felix again, the man’s expression is serious despite his whiny tone.

“what did i just say,” felix asks him. “answer me.”

“i can’t touch my cock.” chan easily, willingly falls into the role. 

felix slaps chan’s cock again. harder. the sound echoes in the tiny booth. “and why not?”

“because i’ve… i’ve been… bad?”

“you’re not sure?”

chan doesn't make it a question. “i’ve been bad.”

“correct.” felix slaps chan’s cock yet again. like it’s some toy that’s fun for him to play with.

the strike makes chan whimper. he’s not quite sure he likes this yet but he sits there and takes it. accepts it. he wants to see what else felix will do. he wants to hear what else felix will say.

“horny little pig,” felix goes on. “don’t you have a job to do? what were you thinking about that had you up here being sinful?” he lifts his arms above his head in a stretch and the motion makes his shirt rise up and expose the beautifully smooth runway of his belly. felix lowers his arms. “eyes up here, pig.”

chan obeys. he lifts his gaze to felix’s face and his brain fails to process felix’s harsh, degrading tone with his boyish smirk. chan spins in his chair to take a look at the sound booth door.

“it’s locked,” felix tells him. “but if you wanna leave…”

instead of leaving, though, chan rolls his chair a smidge closer to where felix stands. ready.

the action almost surprises felix. words fail him for a second before he manages, “what filthy fucking thoughts were you having? were you dreaming about getting fucked? having a cock up your ass, you pig?”

chan swallows down the lump in his throat and squeaks out a “no.”

“no?” felix repeats. “don’t tell me you were thinking about fucking someone else with a cute little cock--” he slaps chan’s cock again. “--like this? you think you can do something with that?”

chan isn’t small but felix’s words make him feel small. weak. impotent. he hangs his head dejectedly.

“that’s right,” says felix with a scoff. “how dare you think you can make someone cum with this?” felix uses his thighs to push chan’s knees further apart before he lands another hard slap across chan’s cock.

chan jolts in his seat and a high-pitched whine falls unbidden out of his mouth.

“what if someone else had walked in here,” felix asks, but he’s smiling like it’s a good thing. “what if they saw you with your cute little cock out, huh?” he tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at chan. “you better be glad it was me. because i’m the only one who’ll punish you and make you rethink being dirty, pig.” he swings his hand again and smacks chan’s cock.

chan’s brain registers the hit but it oddly feels more like pleasure than pain. he moans.

at the sound, felix’s grin widens. “of course you’d like this, you pig.”

chan’s balls tighten. his gut warms. the muscles in his thighs constrict. he wonders if he can cum just from this. he wonders if felix will let him.

“i came up here to fucking surprise you,” felix scolds, “but you’re up here being filthy. a pig rolling around in mud.” he slaps chan’s cock again and maybe it does hurt but only a little. only a tad. it’s a punishment, after all, chan thinks. felix says, “can’t even wait until you’re at home or something to be this sinful? you have to fucking do this here?” another slap.

the pain tingles. chan bites his bottom lip. he looks up into felix’s narrow eyes and he absolutely needs felix to kneel in front of him and suck him off, but--

“you still thinking dirty, chan?” felix asks. he slaps chan’s cock again, close to the head. “i’m asking a lot of questions but you’re not doing a lot of answering.”

chan jolts upright. he sputters out an answer, “i’m still thinking dirty, felix.”

“you’re supposed to be learning, pig. you’re not learning.”

“sorry,” chan cries. “i’m still dirty. so dirty.”

“what are you thinking about?”

chan loses his nerve when he’s asked so directly.

“what are you thinking, pig,” felix sternly asks.

“you sucking me off,” chan pitifully admits. he can’t even look at felix’s face when he says it.

felix laughs. “you think you deserve that?”

humiliation simmers hot in chan’s belly but he tries anyway, “please?”

felix laughs again. higher and louder. genuine amusement. he takes a step back and lifts himself up onto the worktable in front of chan, careful not to knock any of the machines around with his hips. “like i’d put my mouth on something so filthy.”

the denial hurts like hell. hurts so good. “but…”

“you’re filthy, chan,” felix tells him cooly. 

chan squirms in the chair. he wants to jerk off but felix told him that he couldn’t. he wants felix to suck him off but felix told him he doesn’t deserve it. the denial of pleasure is torture. beautiful, delightful torture.

felix props his chin up on his fist and mutters, “up here jerking off where just anyone can see you but you think you can ask me for a favor?” he lifts a leg and plants one of his colorful, expensive nikes on chan’s groin. the sole of his shoe is still wet and cold from the snow outside.

it makes chan shiver and recoil. he raises a hand.

“you can’t touch your cock, pig,” felix reminds him gruffly. then, in a milder voice, he asks, “unless you want me to leave?” it’s a break from their structured roles. a break of character. it’s a way out. an escape.

chan wants to tell him to get out but he finds himself shaking his head. “don’t go. please stay.”

“pig,” felix insults him again, already back in character. “dirty little pig with your filthy little desires.”

chan sucks in a deep breath and lets it out in a low, shaky wheeze.

“how dare you ask me to put my mouth on something dirty.” felix lightly kicks at chan’s cock and they both watch as a globe of precum pools at the head before it slowly oozes down the side. felix toes at chan’s cock again. “dirty pig likes getting punished. how disgusting.”

it’s never truly silent in the booth with the rock music loud and thunderous downstairs. a glass window is the only thing that separates them from the view of the crowd. for a moment, chan wonders just how clearly the band on stage can see them. certainly, the band members can see felix’s head and shoulders, but will the guys down there know that felix is currently using his big shoes to step on chan’s cock?

they must not know. because the vocalist says something that gets the crowd cheering and stomping and then the band launches into their next song.

“why do you want me to stay, huh?” felix asks after several long seconds of pressing his shoe against chan’s cock. the question seems almost plaintive but then felix dips his voice a velvety octave and says, “think i owe you something just because we’re buddies?”

that flips a switch in chan’s brain. reminds him of his years-long friendship with these guys and how all of that has been brought to a knife-edge precipice tonight. do the usual rules of a relationship even cover shit like this? is there a strategy guide he can follow? he helped the band get their start. in the past, he offered his parents' garage so they could rehearse. he gave his brutal, honest opinions on their first several dozen songs. helped them book their first few gigs at the bar. …but is that enough work to earn this kind of reward? does chan deserve to cum down felix’s throat?

felix reads his mind. “you think i’ll suck you off just because you can sit still a few minutes?” he slowly shifts his heel and grinds his shoe more firmly into chan’s crotch. the movement applies new pressure to the base of chan’s cock and makes him flinch. felix growls, “is that why you want me to stay in here with you, filthy pig? because you think if you’re patient and tell me that you’ve learned your lesson, you’ll get something from me?”

and chan feels his face flush red. he has been called out. exposed.

with agonizing slowness, felix turns his foot and guides the side of his chunky, colorful shoe up the length of chan’s cock. it doesn’t offer the same kind of friction as a hand and lacks the heat of a mouth. chan whimpers. the noise makes felix scoff and lightly kick chan’s cock. he asks, “you think you’ll get something out of me just because you’re on your best behavior for a few minutes?”

chan trembles. his thoughts short out.

felix responds to chan’s silence by heavily pressing his shoe into chan’s groin. “answer my question, pig.”

“yes,” chan gasps out.

“yes, what?” felix demands.

“if i’m good, i want a reward.” chan isn’t sure he can be so straightforward.

“and what kind of reward does the little, filthy pig want?”

“for you to put my cock in your mouth.”

the answer makes felix snort back a laugh. he puts the toe of his shoe directly against chan’s ballsack and the tingles finally slip from pleasure to visceral pain. it makes chan bite his bottom lip and cry out. fortunately, felix lets up immediately after. almost apologetically. he slides off of the table and stands between chan’s spread knees. he doesn’t kneel. he doesn’t squat. that would put them on equal ground. he spreads his feet and bends at the waist to get his face level with chan’s crotch. he wraps one small hand around the base of chan’s cock and gives it one slow upstroke that offers the bare minimum of pressure and milks a gooey, clear glob of precum out of chan’s slit. felix leans forward, parts his lips and then lowers his mouth around the head.

it’s heavenly. chan wants to squeeze his eyes shut and revel in the feeling but he keeps his eyes open, he leans forward and takes in every small detail, commits the visual to memory, burns it all to the back of his eyelids for safekeeping. felix’s small mouth stretches wide around chan’s cock. his throat is warm and tight and his tongue dances in little figure-eights over the thick vein on the underside of chan’s cock. felix pushes farther down on the cock until his nose is buried in the rumpled material of chan’s boxers. then, all too soon, felix pulls off of the cock with a moist pop. he licks precum and saliva off his bottom lip and stands up. he circles around the chair as if to leave, gives chan’s shoulder a surprisingly tender pat before he crosses towards the door.

confused, chan spins around in the chair. tries to stand up but his knees are too weak. he flops back down. “felix, please,” he begs.

when felix unlocks and opens the sound booth door, the lights of the bar throw him into silhouette. “please what?”

“i need it.”

“i put your dick in my mouth like you asked. you didn’t specify for how long.” he giggles at chan’s slack-jawed, wide-eyed surprise. “should have been more specific.” then the door shuts behind him and chan’s alone again.

“fuck,” he groans. “fuck all of them.”

downstairs, the band onstage wraps up the last song of their set and the vocalist launches into a thank you speech.

dazed, chan tucks his cock back in his boxers, zips up his pants and just sits there for a few moments.

it’s like he needs to give his brain time to reboot. give his senses time to fully come back online. it’s like he has to mentally peel felix’s words out of his ears and off of his skin.

arousal still tingles in chan’s body. it’s like electricity and he’s fully charged and set to blow.

but he guides himself away from the edge. he pulls himself back. breathes in and out. waits patiently for the adrenaline to fizzle out of his veins.

he’s good now.

chan slides his headphones back on.

the next band is about to take to the stage.

  
  


**track 7.**

**interlude.**

a blissfully uneventful hour slips past and now there’s only one more act that needs to perform before his faves go on stage so chan gets them through sound check and listens in on half of the first song before he breaks out of the booth on a mission.

first stop, the bar.

every stool is occupied with someone tatted and/or pierced and/or sporting an undercut and it seems like jackson enlisted minho’s help with slinging drinks. good. minho knows everything.

chan leans across the surface of the bar so that he won’t have to shout as loud over the band playing. “minho, have you seen seungmin? he needs to cover for me when miroh goes on.”

“try this,” minho says in response. with glittery black-painted fingernails, he lifts a cocktail glass onto the bar and slides it across to him.

chan barely looks at it. it’s yellow but bleeds to peachy pink and bright red like a tropical sunset. “just tell me where seungmin ran off to.” he is kind of in a hurry here.

“just try the drink and i will,” minho replies. he tilts his head in a show of defiance, which causes his long, dangling earring to swing and drag across his shoulder.

with a sigh, chan lifts the glass to his mouth and swallows. is it supposed to be mango? he can’t get much of an impression of the taste from a single sip so he downs a second, larger gulp only to wish he hadn’t. “shit,” he winces as the flavor smacks him over the head. he sits the glass back on the bar. “this is so fucking sour it’s going to melt my face off.”

“less lime juice, then,” minho decides as he slides the glass back across the bar and takes a swig for himself. he doesn’t even flinch. “at least i got the colors right.”

chan demands, “now tell me where seungmin is.”

minho looks him straight in the face and says, “fuck if i know.”

they stare at each other for a comically long moment before chan rolls his eyes and walks away.

“love you, chan,” minho tosses at his back.

chan responds with a middle finger held up over his shoulder.

he searches the building. on any other night, it would be awfully simple to track down seungmin with his pretty, purplish-pink dye job but on a night like tonight, where everyone’s hair is dyed wild colors and spiked with gel, seungmin blends in. first, chan walks through the arcade. there’s a small group of guys in a half-circle around the fighting game cabinet and their cheers almost match the volume of the shouts from the pit. no seungmin. then chan makes a lap around the pool tables. they are all occupied, but seungmin isn’t among the players. getting properly anxious now, chan almost goes outside to brave the winter weather before he spots his giant of a coworker leaning against the far wall. the guy watches the band from a relatively safe distance from the chaos of the pit, drink in hand. 

“seungmin,” chan calls out.

the man jolts around towards him at the sound of his name. “oh. chan. sup?”

“can you hit the booth when miroh goes on?” 

seungmin’s face scrunches up with distaste, like chan has just asked him to clean out the break room fridge or take a bottle of bleach to the bathroom stalls.

chan props his hands on his hips in an attempt to exert what little authority he actually has here. “you know i have to be at the front of the pit when they play.”

“i don’t know, man,” seungmin mutters. he puts his attention back on the stage.

chan sweetens the deal. “i’ll buy you a drink.” but when seungmin’s expression doesn’t immediately change, chan makes the deal even sweeter. “and dinner.” but even that isn’t enough so chan is forced to pull out all the stops. “tomorrow night. at the steakhouse.” that expensive fucking place.

there is a moment where it seems like chan’s bribery does not work, but then the tiniest smile creeps across his friend’s face. “fine,” seungmin moans, like it’s still the worst thing that can possibly happen to him. “i’ll fucking cover you while your idols play.”

“thanks so much. you’re a goddamn lifesaver.” but chan barely has time to pass seungmin the sound booth keys before jisung finds him yet again.

the guy sidles up next to chan and hooks his arm through the crook of chan’s elbow. “bro, we need a rematch,” he whines.

“i…” chan chokes out. “i have so many things to do.” like get you out of my mind, he adds in his head. and jerk off somewhere i won’t be walked in on. “maybe later?”

jisung furrows his eyebrows. he unloops their arms, puts a hand on chan’s chest and gets him up against the wall. “don’t flake.”

“i’m no good at pool. you know that.”

“then we can play darts instead.”

“i’m even worse at that!”

“chan, i haven’t seen you in forever but you don’t want to hang? what the fuck?” jisung leans his body against chan’s. his leg briefly presses between chan’s thighs and now is not the time or the place but even that split-second of contact sends high-voltage tension to chan’s cock.

“i can’t just stand around and talk,” chan insists. he twists his body and frees himself from where jisung’s got him pinned to the wall. “and don’t you have a performance to get ready for?”

“for fuck’s sake, bro. just spend some time with me,” jisung raises his voice.

chan understands where the guy’s temper comes from. if someone he hadn’t seen in a while was brushing him aside, chan would be pissed too. but he can’t do this right now. not when his cock wants him to shove jisung against the brick wall and grind their hips together right here in front of everyone. and his horny thoughts must translate to his eyes because jisung’s mouth slowly drops open like he’s just realized something.

“should i go,” seungmin suggests.

“no. you’re fine,” chan says. “i’ll go.” he looks at jisung. “we can hang later.” and he turns away and makes a run for it.

the bar is so warm and humid. bodies are packed so close that the moisture is gathering on the walls in slick condensation. did the manager really not turn the temp down? this is maddening. he’s going to burn up in here!

chan tugs the front of his shirt down over the tent in his pants but he’s not sure he does a good job of hiding it. in fact, the more he attempts to will it away, the more chan remembers hyunjin’s throaty moans as the guy threw his head back and came under chan’s hand, the more chan remembers the bitter-salty taste of changbin’s cum on his tongue, the more chan remembers the lovely way felix’s freckled cheeks hollowed out when he had chan’s cock in his mouth.

fuck. chan needs to cum. lust sits lava-hot and dizzying in his veins like cocaine. he needs to bust so that he can have a regular conversation with jisung without getting immediately turned on. but who should he ask to help him? felix might laugh in his face again. hyunjin may snicker and say no. rejection is too terrifying right now. chan needs a surefire thing. changbin is his best bet. he explicitly offered, after all. so chan wanders from one end of the bar to the other, keeping an eye out for any of the members of miroh. who he doesn’t expect to corner him again so soon is jisung.

“you sure are busy,” the guy says, arms crossed across his chest, “fucking walking around in circles. i’ve been watching you.”

they are standing near the building’s rear doors and the exit sign on the wall paints jisung’s face in neon red. the light, combined with jisung’s makeup, turns him into quite the seductive incubus.

“i’m looking for someone, okay,” chan says once he’s gotten a hold on his thoughts.

“why can’t you be looking for me,” jisung needs to know. “it’s like you’re purposefully walking away from me.”

and it bubbles up in chan, his sexual frustration. he wants to be bold and fucking stupid and just straight up ask jisung if he wants to fuck, but the thought feels strange even in his own head. yes, he’s spent half the evening fucking around with all of his other friends but the prospect of fucking around with jisung feels truly impossible. a dream that will never--can never--be realized. “because i need some really specific help,” chan eventually manages to choke out.

“and i can’t help?” chan can’t look away from jisung’s wounded expression. “well, if i can’t help you, can you help me?” his smile returns. bright enough to light up the whole bar.

but… “i don’t have the time, jisung.” a short distance away, chan sees felix and his gleaming moonstone hair step through the exit doors and out into the freezing cold night. not chan’s first choice, but--

“come on, bro,” jisung says. he even stomps his foot in a mild tantrum. “stop avoiding me. please.”

“i’m not avoiding you,” chan nearly yells.

“you are.”

“i’m not!”

jisung matches his volume. “then help me with something!”

“later!” chan steps around jisung and rushes straight to the exit doors. he has left his hoodie upstairs in the sound booth so the winter chill furiously attacks him before the doors have even shut behind him. but the sudden cold is refreshing and bracing and shocks clarity into his system. now he can think. now he can come up with a plan. as he shivers, he searches the small wooden deck behind the building but out of all of the people he sees milling about and smoking and eating take-out, none of them are felix. where did he run off to so fast? he must have gone straight for the stairs. chan weaves his way through clusters of black-clad showgoers and makes his way down the snow-covered stairs. the snow is coming down in thick enough flurries now that even the place on the stairs where he and hyunjin sat has been erased by fresh layers of white. at the bottom of the stairs, chan continues down the dark, tight alley to search faces.

there is no felix.

**track 8.**

**jeongin, rhythm guitar/backup vocals.**

chan shivers violently in the cold and he almost turns around to run back up the stairs but he spots a familiar, old van parked at the mouth of the alley. the white paint is dull and scratched and pockmarked. rust clings to the doors. streaks of salt slung up from the streets paints the wheel wells and bumpers. a wall of stickers and colorful decals on the rear driver’s side absolutely fail to hide the significant damage of a collision from years ago. it’s miroh’s van. and maybe that’s where felix is.

he approaches the side door and sees the faintest blue light through the fogged-up glass. he tries the van door and it slides open, unlocked.

but who is inside stretched across the bench seat isn’t felix, but jeongin.

he’s gotten so tall and handsome in recent years, chan realizes. he is letting his hair grow out. beautiful sleeves of tattoos cover both of his arms, the backs of both of his hands. across his slender knuckles, the ink says ‘s t a y’ and ‘t r u e.’

jeongin holds his phone in one hand and a vape pen in the other. he exhales white, sweet smelling smoke that dissipates like wet cotton candy in the air. he looks up at chan standing on the other side of the open door. “it’s cold out there,” he says with a lazy, dimpled grin.

chan snaps into motion. he crawls into the van and slides the van door shut behind him. he sits on the very edge of the bench seat, the one place not occupied by jeongin as he lounges across the seat on his back, one knee slightly raised. jeongin takes another pull off his vape pen and giggles to himself as he watches some video on his phone. chan can’t help but point out the obvious, “you weren’t wearing that when you got here.”

jeongin does not take his eyes off of his phone. “some drunk girl threw up on me. had to change.” 

eww. “that sucks.”

“she wanted me to autograph her shirt. i think she was too drunk and got too excited, poor thing.”

chan scrunches up his nose in sympathetic disgust. “shame.”

the glow of the phone screen reflects off the round lenses of jeongin’s glasses so chan just barely makes out a vibrant display of color as something comedic happens during the video.

chan says, “you had a good outfit. with the mesh.”

“yeah, i know. and it sucks. i just dumped it in the dumpster.” but he laughs so he must not be terribly upset about it. “i’m gonna look like i don’t belong on stage.” because now he wears a white shirt with a deep scoop neck that looks like something he sleeps in and a pair of light gray sweatpants that must belong to felix or changbin because the too-small pants cling to jeongin’s long legs and the hem stops mid-calf. he doesn’t even have socks on, chan realizes. and his bare toes rest a hair’s width away from chan’s arm. jeongin must have gotten changed in the van but just never made it back inside to the show. no wonder chan hasn’t seen him in a while. jeongin takes his eyes off of his phone and gets a long, good look at chan. “you look like you need a hug,” he says seriously. then he spreads out his arms. “come here.”

chan doesn’t really know how he’s supposed to hug someone who is laying down, but now that he thinks about it, he really would appreciate a hug. he hesitates only a moment longer before he crawls across the seat, across jeongin’s body, and curls up next to his lean frame, head on jeongin’s chest. he throws one arm across jeongin’s belly and the other he slips beneath jeongin’s back. it takes a few seconds for jeongin to shift around and grant chan some room, but he eventually settles into a position where he can hold his phone up so that they can both see it with one hand and then gently run his fingers through chan’s hair with the other. 

it’s wildly comfortable and chan sinks into the moment. his frazzled mind finally has a chance to take a break. he almost thinks he can manage a nap, with the soothing way jeongin’s fingers card through his hair.

chan drifts.

the wind outside howls low through the tight alley but he can also hear people stomping through the snow and speaking to each other as their violet silhouettes pass by right on the other side of the van’s glass. it’s easy to tune out the noise and music and sound effects of jeongin’s video but it is not easy to tune out the rhythmic thumping of his heart as the sound seems to hit straight into chan’s ear.

something happens in the video that gets jeongin cackling. the noise is amusingly squeaky and his vibrating chest snaps chan out of the half-nap he nearly fell into. he thinks of something. “the band before you guys is on stage right now,” chan tells him, in case jeongin doesn’t know since he’s lost in his own little world out here. “maybe you have thirty minutes? probably less?”

jeongin removes his fingers from chan’s hair long enough to inhale off of his vape pen. “oh shit. where has the time gone?”

he smells good, chan thinks. like soap and cologne and laundry detergent and whatever super sweet flavor he’s been exhaling. “thought you should know.”

“thanks, man. i’d have missed my own show.”

and jeongin is warm, too. like a blanket. comfortable. chan almost feels swaddled. and he easily gets lost riding the rise and fall and rise and fall of jeongin’s chest. it’s almost fun to feel vulnerable and cared for when it’s like this.

“but you really did look like you needed a hug,” says jeongin softly.

and the silence between them hangs until chan realizes that jeongin is leaving it up to him to say what’s on his mind or not. he doesn’t have to. he doesn’t want to. “a hug feels great right now,” he says instead. though he’s still not sure if this is a hug or if it’s simply cuddling.

jeongin hums low and doesn’t press chan with more questions. he switches from one video to another and keeps his hand moving steadily through chan’s hair whenever he’s not sucking on his vape.

now that chan gives himself time to relax and assess his own condition, he discovers that he’s still a bit on edge after his thing with felix. it was a new experience for him so he didn’t know what the hell to expect, and it was definitely interesting and felt good at the time, but now that it’s over, it sits with him. and it’s not like he wants to erase it. he just wants to feel something else. chan requests, “call me something nice?”

jeongin giggles at some punchline in the video that chan wasn’t paying enough attention to in order to understand. “uhh… like what?”

“a pet name,” chan says, unsure of a better word to use.

he’s thankful that jeongin doesn’t question him or make fun of him. “pup?”

it sounds too close to ‘pig.’ “something cute,” chan adds.

“kitten?”

chan feels warmer already. “yeah.”

jeongin strokes the top of chan’s head. then he lowers his hand closer to chan’s neck and one of his fingers gently rubs behind chan’s left ear. “my adorable little kitten,” he says.

at first, when chan purrs, it’s as a joke. but then he tries it more seriously.

“aww, my little kitten sounds so content,” jeongin murmurs. chan can hear his smile.

“you make me feel nice,” says chan.

“just wanna take good care of my kitten.”

his low voice crackles in his chest and chan sinks into the vibration. and this, too, is entirely new for chan. his heart races, fearful of the unknown. fearful of not being able to explore this without judgment. but jeongin has been kind and understanding for all the years chan has known him so maybe jeongin will let him try this. “can your little kitten jerk you off?”

jeongin goes completely still and takes so long to respond that chan fears he’s ruined everything. that he’s fractured their friendship to splinters. he’s a mere moment from springing up and clambering outside of the van when jeongin lowers his phone onto his chest, screen facing upward so that the glow still gives them light. he lifts his ass off of the seat and yanks down the waistband of his sweatpants to reveal his tight brightly-colored star wars underwear that cannot hide the curved bulge of his half hard cock. he slips a tattooed hand beneath the material, pushes the cotton down and pulls his cock out.

it’s pretty, chan observes, and the smooth and pale and pinkish and unmarked skin of it looks absolutely artistic beneath jeongin’s heavily inked fingers as he strokes himself to full hardness.

chan’s first thought is that jeongin was half-hard before chan even made his ridiculous request. chan’s second thought is that he absolutely must get his hand around it. he shifts across the seat so that he’s a bit more level with jeongin’s crotch and then takes the man’s cock in his hand.

it’s warm--almost hot--against chan’s skin and he grips it tight as he strokes upward. his fist bumps against jeongin’s fingers and they both awkwardly pump the long, skinny cock in mistimed movements before jeongin drops his hand and lets chan take command over his pleasure.

the first minute is spent exploring. chan traces jeongin’s veins with his fingers and then experimentally tugs at jeongin’s generous foreskin. he makes a show out of it. he pulls the foreskin up and tight in his fist and then he yanks it down to expose the purplish-red of jeongin’s cockhead. when he circles his thumb around jeongin’s slit is when he works his first high-pitched sigh out of jeongin. he likes that, huh? chan drags his finger across the slit again which makes jeongin tense and hiss. then he strokes his hand down down down towards the base where his fingers tangle in pubic hair.

“my little kitten is so good at this,” jeongin groans.

“kitten wants to be good for you.” so kitten gets to work.

he pulls on jeongin’s underwear until it slides further off of his tapered hips. now he can slip his hand into the heat of jeongin’s crotch and gently cradle the man’s balls. they are heavy but smooth in his hand and he massages them with his thumb and forefinger, loving the way they fit in his hand. he dips his hand lower still and lets his fingers drag across the super sensitive skin between jeongin’s balls and his hole. that works another long hiss out of jeongin. makes him squirm just a little.

the more he watches jeongin’s little reactions, the more chan invests in trying to see them.

he slips his right arm from beneath jeongin’s back and spreads his palm flat across jeongin’s belly. in one movement, he pulls jeongin’s loose shirt up over his chest and, like a magician’s trick, he reveals jeongin’s chest full of ink. there are birds and flames and hooded figures and christian crosses all across jeongin’s torso and chan spends time tracing along some of them. then the chiseled lines of jeongin’s abs distract him so he traces those instead.

he remembers how chubby and self-conscious jeongin used to be a few years back. he didn’t like to wear tight clothing or show much skin or have anyone touch him. now, he lets chan’s hand freely roam his bare skin. he even arches his back off of the seat as if to lean into the featherlight kisses chan places across his belly and down his hips.

jeongin lets out a weak moan and then manages to say, “i’m supposed to be petting kitten. not the other way around.”

“let kitten take good care of you.”

chan jerks jeongin off in earnest now. he spends less time on the details and lavishes attention on the whole shaft. he holds his fist tight when he goes slow because he loves to feel the musical thump of jeongin’s heart rate through his cock. he holds his fist loose when he goes fast because the slide of jeongin’s foreskin makes this interesting, wet sound that gets chan salivating.

jeongin touches chan’s chin. just this light little press that chan still manages to understand. he lifts his head and meets jeongin’s eyes. they stare at each other for only a second before they both simultaneously lean forward, on the same wavelength. their mouths crash. off-center at first but jeongin tips his head farther to the left and then they are kissing. for real.

for all the swords and daggers and ravens and skulls and other sharp and dark things that jeongin has painted on his skin, he kisses light and soft. sweetly, almost. tender. it has to be chan who takes control and deepens the kiss. he swipes his tongue across jeongin’s teeth before jeongin opens up and allows him in. the inside of jeongin’s mouth tastes like bubblegum and chan fucks his tongue in to relish in the flavor. jeongin moans into his mouth, low and long. chan swallows the sound like it’s sustenance. then he pulls away, breathless and boneless.

“kitten wants to taste your cock,” chan says, heart pounding.

it takes a moment for jeongin to blink away the heady daze of their kiss. “my little kitten wants some milk?”

chan nods furiously, excited by just the idea.

“drink up then, kitten.”

but hardly a second passes after chan wraps his lips around jeongin’s cock than the man’s phone rings, which silences the video they both forgot about.

jeongin fumbles to answer the call and must accidentally put it on speaker in the process because hyunjin’s voice is loud when he asks, “you’re not drunk and face down in a gutter somewhere, are you?”

jeongin laughs. “no. i’m face up.”

hyunjin sounds a bit relieved. “just wanted to check up. no one’s seen you.”

“a girl threw up on me so i had to get changed.”

“what? oh god. that’s fucking gross.”

“tell me about it. i washed my hands like ten times.”

all this while, chan has held still. jeongin’s cock sits in his mouth. his lips lightly encircle the girth. the head presses against his tongue. but he does not know how long this conversation will last and he definitely doesn’t want to lose the opportunity to suck on such a beautiful cock, so he opens his mouth wide, takes a deep breath and slurps it down nearly to the base so suddenly that it shocks a gravelly, broken grunt out of jeongin’s mouth.

“what the fuck,” hyunjin shrieks.

“sorry, had to clear my throat,” jeongin says, red in the face.

“shit. that was right in my ear.”

chan keeps going. he works up a little saliva and then rolls it down jeongin’s shaft with his tongue. he does this repeatedly. up one side, around the head and then down the other. he pulls off of jeongin’s cock only to slurp it back down, his nose buried in pubic hair. jeongin’s hand finds his hair. it grabs a fistful. it pulls. chan lets out a sigh at the mild pain. probably loud enough for hyunjin to hear in the lull of their conversation.

maybe.

hyunjin says, “i know it’s last minute but like… we’ve got to add insomnia to the setlist.”

jeongin’s body goes rigid as chan swipes his tongue up the length of jeongin’s cock. “wait… that’s chan’s favorite song, right?”

and it surprises chan that jeongin just knows that off the top of his head. 

hyunjin says, “yeah. yeah. we were trying so hard to blend the new song into the rotation that we forgot insomnia.”

chan comes off of jeongin’s cock with a moist, unmistakable pop and jeongin chastises him with a very soft slap on the chin. chan just looks over at him, smiles mischievously and then noisily slurps jeongin’s cock back into his mouth.

jeongin tries to cover up the noise. “we can swap it for third eye.”

“what? hell no,” hyunjin bellows. “if anything, we should take off chronosaurus.”

“that cover song,” jeongin suggests. “we don’t need to do that one.”

“are you for real? as hard as jisung’s been working on that, we can’t just scrap it. he’s been dying to do that one.”

chan does a particular movement with his tongue across the head of jeongin’s cock that turns his would-be argument into a squeaky whine.

fortunately, hyunjin misinterprets. “complain all you want but i think we shouldn’t axe it.”

jeongin squirms on the seat while chan sucks him. he can hardly keep his voice level when he asks, “we can skip doing entrance.”

“dude, listen to yourself,” huffs hyunjin. “that’s our intro. and everyone gets their own little mini solo as each instrument comes in. we can’t take that off.”

jeongin wrestles back his composure, even as chan deep throats him. “fine. let’s take side effects off.”

“now you’re talking crazy,” yells hyunjin. it’s like no idea is good enough. “do you know how fucking beastly that breakdown is? the pit is gonna go wild. someone’s gonna get fucking punched in the throat!” and that’s a good thing.

“okay. fine. side effects stays. let’s take off voices.”

“voices got us popular, man. it's what went viral.”

and it thrills chan that the two musicians try so hard to work his favorite song into the setlist. it’s almost enough to put butterflies in his stomach to hear how much they care about him. all of this just to please him with one song. that’s why he has to take care of them. so he wraps his fist around the base of jeongin’s cock and strokes what he doesn’t have in his mouth.

“bad kitty,” jeongin whispers.

“huh? what?” hyunjin asks over the speakerphone.

“nothing,” jeongin backpedals. “what were we talking about?”

hyunjin groans and dives back into debating why all of their songs are good and can’t be taken off the setlist.

jeongin takes that opportunity to pull hard on chan’s hair. the action forces chan to let jeongin’s cock slip out of his mouth so that he can tilt his head back. jeongin leans forward, presses his lips to chan’s ear and huskily whispers, “who taught you how to suck cock like that, kitten?”

and the praise sets fireworks off in chan’s head. makes his vision white out around the edges. though that last bit may be because of how hard jeongin pulls on his hair.

hyunjin’s voice nearly ruins the moment. “huh? what did you say? speak up. it’s noisy where i am.”

“we’ve gone through every song on the list,” jeongin snaps. “you said no to every single one.”

chan licks up the underside of jeongin’s cock and he watches as jeongin’s toes curls from the pleasure. as jeongin raises his knees. chan’s eyes flutter shut when jeongin pulls hard on his hair.

“i still say we take off chronosaurus,” hyunjin says. “we should end our set with something hype.”

“shouldn’t-- shouldn’t we ask… fuck.” jeongin’s whole body shivers with pleasure as chan sucks his cock. “shouldn’t we ask the other guys?”

hyunjin gets quiet.

he knows, chan thinks. hyunjin knows jeongin is out somewhere getting a blowjob. then again, chan isn’t exactly trying to be subtle as he lets tiny little whimpers spill out of his mouth. he can’t help it. jeongin’s cock fits in his throat so nicely.

jeongin, however, still wants to camouflage their illicit act. “okay. goddamn. we can--” he clears his throat to disguise the way his voice shakes. “let’s take off chronosaurus and do insomnia before we end with side effects.”

“sounds like a plan,” hyunjin says. “i’ll round up the others and let them know about changing around the setlist.”

“they should agree with no problem.” jeongin’s voice sounds hoarse from all of the grunts and moans he’s been forcing himself to hold back. “if the guys know it’s for chan, they’ll do it, right?”

“yeah. if it’s for chan, we’d do anything,” agrees hyunjin.

“we’d do anything,” jeongin wheezes.

and chan almost pulls off of jeongin’s cock to confidently ask ‘anything?’ but he yanks back jeongin’s foreskin and wraps his lips around the cockhead instead so he won’t waste a drop as he licks at jeongin’s leaking precum.

“alright. that’s settled then,” says hyunjin. “these guys are on their third song so we have about twenty minutes left before the band ahead of us is done.”

jeongin’s voice is paper thin and shaky when he says, “twenty minutes. got it.”

hyunjin is quiet for several seconds before he says, “don’t be late.”

he must know by now, chan thinks. and chan kind of wants him to know. he wants hyunjin to hear and be jealous because this could have been him! chan wants hyunjin to know what he and jeongin are doing so bad that he removes his hand from around the base of jeongin’s cock and deep throats him. he sucks it down to the base even though the sudden movement makes him gag.

jeongin writhes on the seat and lets out such a whiny, pathetic mewl that it’s absolutely impossible to mistake the noise for anything else. “i won’t be late,” jeongin promises before he hangs up and chucks his phone onto the van’s floor. to chan, though, he says, “my naughty little kitten.”

chan smiles around the cock in his mouth. he pulls off of it with a moist noise and, even in the dark of the van’s interior, he can see the thick trail of saliva that connects his bottom lip with the tip of jeongin’s cock. “your naughty kitten is hungry and needs some milk.”

jeongin’s fingers tug at chan’s hair. “yeah? you want it all?”

“pretty please,” chan begs. he looks over and there’s just enough light filtering in through the van’s glass for him to see exactly how weakened jeongin looks. eyes big and glassy, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed with tension. chan gives the side of jeongin’s cock cute little licks. one side and then the other. from the base to the tip. his eyes never leave jeongin’s the whole while. “pretty please with sugar on top?”

the moment jeongin breaks is obvious. “i’ll give my precious little kitten some milk,” he chokes out.

“thank you,” chan says. he puts his mouth back around jeongin’s cock and he loves that it doesn’t overwhelm him like changbin’s cock had. it fits in his mouth nicely and his tongue can swirl around it easily and he can suck it to the back of his throat like his mouth was designed for it. he pulls off jeongin’s cock again. “when does kitten get the milk?”

jeongin flattens his hand across the back of chan’s skull and guides chan back down on his cock. he bucks his hips upwards, four or five thrusts, fucking his cock into chan’s throat. “now,” he gasps. he lifts his knees, plants his feet underneath him and thrusts upward one more time. a sharp intake of breath is chan’s one warning before jeongin cums.

it’s tangy and sweet. so unlike changbin’s cum. chan likes the taste and finds it so easy and pleasant to swallow. he puts his hand around the base of jeongin’s cock and strokes upward like he wants to milk jeongin dry, pump every last drop of cum down his throat. it tastes so good. he wants more and more of it.

he knows jeongin is empty when he flops back onto the seat and huffs, “holy fuck, my little kitten.”

chan sits up on his elbows. he almost doesn’t want to pull off jeongin’s cock, but it softens quickly and slips from between his lips. “kitten’s all full now.”

“kitten better be, after all of that milk.”

chan pushes himself up into a seated position and shivers at the loss of warmth as jeongin’s hand falls out of his hair. “you should hurry up and get on stage,” chan tells him. he wipes a stray drop of jeongin’s cum off of his bottom lip and then licks it off his finger. “it looks like you’ve still got some equipment to take inside.”

“yeah, yeah,” jeongin sighs. he lets out a full-body shudder just trying to pull his pants up. “and i have got to find my shoes.”

chan swings open the van door and steps outside in the alley. it almost scares him how many people linger around, smoking and drinking, on their phones. he slides the van door shut behind him and wonders if he and jeongin were loud enough to be heard. he turns around and the view through the window is clear enough that he can see the light of jeongin’s phone reflect off of the lenses of his glasses. how many people walked up the alley, chan wonders, and looked over to see him sucking cock?

**track 9.**

**interlude.**

miroh goes on stage in only a few more minutes. chan rushes up the alley, takes the stairs two at a time and then swings open the door to the venue’s heat. fifteen minutes ago, the temperature was stifling and unbearable. now it is a comfort after his sprint through the winter night.

chan swallows. there’s still a bit of jeongin on his tongue and in his throat. and it’s not until then that he’s aware of his own hardness. “fuck,” he hisses, because it’s yet another time where he’s fucked around but didn’t get an orgasm out of it.

he can almost physically feel it getting all pent-up in his balls.

he wants to cum so bad. 

he still kind of wants to find changbin and maybe ask if the guy can suck him off.

but, as if he’s been waiting for chan to come back through the door, jisung is at his side.

“what the fuck, bro,” he snaps. he grips a hand into the hem of chan’s shirt like he absolutely refuses to let chan get away this time. “at least spend a little bit of time with me tonight.”

chan shudders.

jisung’s fist in his shirt is dangerously close to his erection. one wrong swing of his hand and jisung will drag his wrist across it.

chan tries to turn away. “can you give me a minute?”

“i’ve been giving you a minute since we got to the bar, chan. the whole night’s gone by and i’ve hardly talked to you.”

and maybe chan does feel guilty now. perhaps earlier in the night, he was doing it unconsciously but now he knows without a doubt that he’s pushing his friend away on purpose.

“come with me,” jisung says.

“what? why?” chan sputters out.

“it’s a surprise. come on.” jisung pulls on his shirt.

chan grabs jisung’s wrist and squeezes hard until jisung whimpers and unhands him. “what the hell, jisung?”

jisung was mad a moment ago but now he looks happy. utterly pleased. as if he can sense that he’s winning chan over. “don’t spoil my good mood, bro. just help me with something.” he sees the look on chan’s face. “it won’t take long. i mean, it can’t take long.”

“jisung.”

“chan.”

“stop fucking with me.”

“i’m being dead serious. help me out with something.”

“can it--”

“no. it can’t wait until later. we have to do this now. chan, hurry.”

“but--”

**track 10.**

**jisung, vocals.**

“come on,” jisung sings out cheerfully. his smile is delectably bright and his eyes pierce straight into chan’s soul. what the hell is he so suddenly excited about? and why can’t he let chan mull in his dreadful, ungodly levels of horniness in peace? “this will only take a few minutes. i swear you’ll be into it, bro.”

his glee is infectious and chan smiles despite his frustration. “what is with you tonight,” chan asks. because he definitely does not remember jisung ever being this pushy or clingy and it doesn’t help that the man has been overcrowding his lewd thoughts all night.

“i miss you,” jisung admits simply. “come with me?”

and chan has a million other things on his mind. a million things he needs to take care of. thoughts racing a million miles an hour. “now?”

“yes. now.” jisung pulls and pulls on chan’s arm until he gets him moving across the building’s hardwood floor. through the crowd. around the bar. towards the archway that leads to the employee’s only wing. “i miss you and i want to spend time with you before… before i get too busy.”

and that’s valid, chan thinks, with the record deal and the upcoming album and the nationwide tour, but miroh is up next and the current band is halfway through their set. so do the two of them really have time to play games right now? can’t this shit wait until after the show? “don’t you have a performance?”

“yeah. but i still want to have a good time, bro.”

this is a prank. it’s definitely a prank. jisung’s going to dump water over chan’s head. make him walk into a wall of scotch tape. “can we not do this?”

“chan, it’s just something quick. you’ll like it. i fucking swear to god.” jisung leads the way towards the end of the dimly-lit hallway, almost skipping, but when chan doesn’t follow him quickly enough, he turns around so that he faces chan, grabs both of his hands and walks backward to pull chan along. “i really need your help. this is something only you can do for me. don’t you want to find out what it is?” and then he interlocks their fingers and grins up at chan and chan wonders if such a look is supposed to be seductive or if he’s still that fucking horny and is keening at every touch, at every point of contact, at every implied promise. jisung goes in for the kill. “please?”

chan wants to resist but his resolve splinters. “okay.”

“finally.” jisung laughs and presses their palms together, squeezes chan’s hand. he has such a pretty smile. it makes his whole face glow. “you really thought you were gonna ignore me all fucking night, bro?”

“i wasn’t ignoring you.”

“yeah fucking right.”

“i was busy. i told you.”

jisung sticks his bottom lip out. “too busy for me?”

chan can’t reply to that. he loses focus and sputters. coughs. nearly trips over his own shoes.

“just follow me, chan. i need you.” jisung glances over his shoulder to look at where they’re going and then pulls chan into the last room on the right. it’s the employee break room. not much more than a circle of folding chairs around a cheap card table and an old leather couch facing a wall-mounted television. the room is quiet and empty and reeks of burnt popcorn and stale beer and cheap weed and chan can’t figure out what the hell jisung wants with him here when the guy’s supposed to be on stage in fifteen minutes.

“jisung, tell me what you need,” chan grunts out with the last of his patience.

“your trust,” jisung answers, purposefully coy. he looks over his shoulder again and draws chan towards the couch. the back of his thighs hit the arm of the couch and he folds backwards over it, putting his spine on the leather cushions. because he’s still gripping chan’s hands, he drags the older man down with him, down on top of him, into the heated cradle between his legs.

the new, foreign proximity of their faces--of their bodies--lights a dangerous fire in chan’s insides. they are crotch to crotch and there’s no way chan’s persistent erection goes unnoticed. “jisung,” he says breathlessly, like a warning, “what do you want from me?”

“a little of your time,” jisung whispers. his eyes are half-lidded and his mouth looks so soft and glossy as he nervously bites his bottom lip. “help me with this? it can only be you.”

with what? oh dear god! help him with what? “jesus christ, jisung, just tell me.”

“it’s in my pocket. back up a little bit?”

chan sits himself up on his knees which is a good idea because now he’s not laying on top of jisung but it is a bad idea because jisung drapes his legs around chan’s waist to hold him close. chan stares down at him and drinks in the spectacular sight of him. even in the shitty fluorescent lighting with his hair all mussed, jisung looks immaculate. his shirt rucks up to expose his torso and the tiny tattoo across his ribs. his pants ride low to reveal the name brand of his boxers. he’s a vision. a tempting fox. chan kind of wants to devour him. but all dolled-up in his stage makeup, jisung looks absolutely forbidden. an art piece at the history museum that chan should not be allowed to get this close to.

“don’t run away,” jisung pleads. when chan makes no move to leave, jisung unlocks their fingers and drops his legs from around chan’s waist. he works a fist into one of the pockets of his gleaming leather pants, claws deep into it, struggles, pulls free something that chan cannot properly see and then pushes whatever it is into chan’s hands.

it’s some kind of prank, chan reminds himself. he’ll open his hands and it’ll be a cockroach carcass or something. hesitantly, he unfolds his fingers to inspect the object, braces himself in case it jumps at his face. it does not move. he takes a closer look at it. it’s a palm-sized, misshapen mass of hot pink silicone that chan stares at for several long seconds before he recognizes it as-- “a butt plug?” when he looks down at jisung, the man already has his pants unbuttoned and his underwear tugged down around his slim thighs. jisung hoists up his knees towards his chest and presents his bare ass to chan like it’s a priceless gift.

“the guys--” jisung giggles but then regains his composure. “the guys dared me to put a plug up my ass and wear it on stage. told me i wouldn’t be able to stand it. that i’d fuck up the show because of it.” he lifts a hand, threads it between his thighs and then gently trails his index and middle fingers along the outer rim of his soft, pink hole. “help me put it in? i’ve never done anything like this before and i only trust you not to hurt me.”

chan is hypnotized. his eyes hungrily follow the circular movement of jisung’s fingers and he can hardly split daydream from reality. this whole night has been crazier than his wildest late night imaginings but this is no fantasy. he’s really staring at jisung’s tight, twitching hole and jisung is actually asking him to shove something in it. “holy shit,” he breathes. “thank you, jesus.”

“i tried earlier,” jisung keeps on, “but it just won’t seem to go in.”

“you need lube,” chan tells him, eyes transfixed. “to ease the slide.”

jisung whines. “i don’t have lube.”

chan finally manages to look away from jisung’s asshole. his gaze takes in jisung’s half hard cock and heaving chest and gleaming eyes and knowing smirk.

“i heard spit also works,” jisung says smugly. “if you use a lot of it.”

chan looks back down. at the smooth columns of jisung’s thighs. at the precious little mounds of jisung’s ass. at the fluttering entrance of jisung’s hole. chan squeaks out, “and you need to carefully stretch it open if you want to fit something inside.”

“that’s why you’re here,” jisung tells him. as if his message isn’t already clear enough, he adds in a whisper, “to stretch me open.”

it’s not the most elegant seduction but chan can’t say he’s not impressed. that’s he’s not moved.

jisung gives his own ass a pat. “stretch me open, chan.”

vaguely, distantly, chan hears the noise of the rest of the bar from the far end of the hall. he hears the music the band’s playing, all distorted and full of bass at this distance. he hears people shouting and laughing. footsteps draw dangerously close to the open break room door. but all chan really cares about is jisung on his back, begging. those slim fingers circling his entrance like a formal invitation.

the plug slips out of chan’s hand and falls onto the cushion between his knees.

jisung hits him where it hurts. “hurry, chan.”

there goes the last of chan’s restraint. he growls like a beast, leans forward, puts his free hand beneath one of jisung’s knees to keep him still and spread and open, then he immediately shoves his tongue into jisung’s hole.

the intrusion makes jisung arch his back off of the couch cushions and choke out a breathy, needy, “oh my god, chan.”

such noise is heaven to his ears and chan longs to hear more and more of it. he presses his face further into the cleft of jisung’s ass and swipes his tongue in quick circles around jisung’s entrance, tasting him and savoring him. making him wet. he’s so warm and it’s so easy to lick spit across the skin.

jisung starts and stops his sentence two times before he manages, “this is why it had to be you.”

chan groans at the praise. he pulls away from jisung’s hole just to watch it clench and shine with the wet of his spit. it’s beautiful and soft like a pink rose and chan’s cock tenses within the confines of his pants, willing and eager.

“keep going,” jisung urges him.

not needing to be told twice, chan leans back in. he laps his tongue at jisung’s hole voraciously. like a starving man. he suctions his mouth to the rim and pushes his spit inside. jisung’s thighs vibrate with pleasure. goosebumps dot his flesh. jisung tries to close his legs in around chan’s head but chan gets a good grip beneath jisung’s knee and pushes until jisung’s thighs spread. until the material of jisung’s pants squeak and refuse to give him any more leeway. he feels jisung relax and loosen around his tongue so he pushes it in further and he curls it upwards to tease at jisung’s insides.

jisung trembles and gasps. his hole flexes around chan’s tongue. “fuck!”

chan moans. he can smell jisung’s sweat and musk but, beneath it, he can smell the sharp tang of soap and can tell that jisung prepared himself for this. that he’s been waiting all night for chan’s tongue. chan pulls his tongue free so that he can growl, “you taste so good. i can do this forever.” 

“we don’t have forever,” jisung reminds him breathlessly. “we have ten minutes.”

“i’ll get serious, then,” chan decides. he spits on jisung’s hole and watches as the bubbly wad coats the rim and drips down the curve of his ass towards the couch cushions. not wanting any of it to go to waste, chan leans down and drags his tongue through his spit, collects it as it drips, and then pushes it into jisung’s wet hole.

above him, he feels jisung shudder. “fuck, chan. fuck. fuck. fuckfuckfuck.”

“shh,” chan hisses.

jisung mutes his moans by clamping both hands down over his mouth.

it’s a shame chan won’t be able to hear jisung’s pretty noises but the whole bar doesn’t need to know what they’re up to and it’s only a matter of time before anyone else comes up the hall and catches them.

chan slots a finger into his mouth and sucks on it, coats it in spit. then he spits on jisung’s hole to increase the wetness. it’s sloppy and jisung is dripping but he needs it. chan pushes a finger inside. first, just the tip, then, slowly, he slides further in knuckle by knuckle, lavishing fresh spit around jisung’s entrance with swipes of his tongue until jisung is tight and clenching around his whole finger.

“chan,” jisung whimpers from behind his clamped hands.

chan looks up at him. “yeah?” when jisung doesn’t say or do anything, worry rots inside him. “what’s the matter?”

jisung pulls his hands away from his mouth to say, “just wanted you to look at me.”

and they hold eye contact for several seconds. both of their faces flush red with exertion and lust. but chan has a job to do. he ignores the raging need of his own cock and returns his attention to his finger deep in jisung’s ass. he slowly drags it out. watches jisung’s rim tighten and loosen around it. whenever he feels the slide dry up, he puts fresh spit around the rim and tries again. when only his fingertip is inside, he pushes his finger in again, working it in slow circles to encourage jisung’s hole to stretch.

the sensation makes jisung’s breath hitch. he grabs hold of his hard cock and his body goes rigid with pleasure. his hole clamps down tight around chan’s finger. 

“gonna need you to relax, jisung,” chan patiently urges.

jisung nods and pants out, “okay. okay.” it happens slowly. in stages. jisung gets his breathing under control and he gradually relaxes back onto the couch. he releases his white knuckle grip on the cushions. his cock dribbles out precum. he opens his eyes and meets chan’s expectant gaze.

something sparks between them then. possibly. maybe. 

or perhaps the fireworks are only in chan’s head.

when chan feels jisung’s hole unclench around his finger, he starts moving it again. out and in, out and in. he spits when he feels things get dry and he slows down whenever jisung grits his teeth and whimpers. “there you go,” he says calmly. “let me make you feel good. let me do all of the hard work.”

jisung nods his head quickly. as if he would ever--could ever--say no to that.

chan stoops down and spits fresh dampness across his finger, then he works it inside jisung’s hole. fucking it in. god. he wants it to be his cock so bad. wants to feel jisung’s heat and wetness. there’s no way he’s ready for it now, though. chan drags his finger completely out and jisung shivers at the sensation of being so suddenly empty. chan gives jisung’s hole a wet lick, a gentle kiss, and then leans back to slot two fingers into it. he pushes them in slow and deep and his actions work a low groan out of jisung. it’s a bit easier to feel jisung stretch around him when he uses two fingers. muscles loosen and practically suck his fingers deeper. “is it good,” chan asks, to which jisung nods and trembles. “i’ll make it even better.” he twists his fingers like turning a key in a lock and it thrills him to feel the spit-wetness of jisung’s hole across his knuckles. he continues to slowly twist and circle his fingers, stretching jisung’s ring of muscles. he pulls his fingers out slowly and then pushes them in quickly, a pattern that makes jisung let go of his cock and clamp his hands around his mouth just in time to catch a wanton moan. chan feeds on such reactions. he divides his time between watching jisung’s eyes roll to the back of his head and watching jisung’s hole suck in his fingers with delightfully wet sounds. chan curls his fingers and hooks them upwards and presses his fingertips to jisung’s walls. the new sensation makes jisung writhe on the couch cushions, makes him angle his hips and push back onto chan’s fingers. impatient now, chan roughly fucks his fingers in and out, in and out, and his manhandling makes jisung whine and moan and curl his spine up off the couch. chan’s caveman brain has taken control and it overloads him with blurry, oversaturated images of fucking jisung into the couch cushions, of pounding into him so hard and fast that his ass cheeks turn red from the slap of his hips. chan can’t take it anymore. he’s been horny and hard and yearning for half the night. he practically feels his balls turn blue from his own satisfaction being repeatedly ignored. he drops his hand from beneath jisung’s knee and uses it to undo the button of his pants, unzip them, tug them down.

“chan.”

chan pushes his dry hand into the front of his sticky boxers and just that little bit of contact makes his cock ache with pleasure. the tingles race up his back to his shoulders to his neck to his head, and he moans.

“chan!”

jisung’s urgent tone snaps chan back into the moment. the moment where he has two of his fingers buried knuckle-deep inside his best friend. “what?”

“i asked you to put the butt plug in. not your cock.”

reality whacks chan over the head. he slides his fingers out faster than he probably should and backs away hurriedly as he realizes how awfully he misinterpreted the situation. he gets up off the couch, steps back, trips over his own shoes and lands on his ass on the hard, cold tile flooring.

jisung rolls over onto his side to recover. he presses his face into the back of the couch, thighs trembling and pink hole twitching and empty.

they both breathe heavy for several seconds.

for a long moment, chan seethes in quiet anger. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. he feels rejected. shunned. embarrassed. discarded. is he not good enough to fuck jisung? does his pleasure not matter at all to anyone? the frustration sits hot behind his eyes until his good sense kicks in and he remembers that he would never do something jisung doesn’t want him to.

dazed, chan sits on the floor with his knees to his chest. his eyes trail around the break room. they take in all the framed tour posters on the wall, all the autographed album covers and faded concert ticket stubs, all the photographs of semi-famous musicians taken in front of the bar and the punk rock memorabilia tacked to the bulletin boards. it’s all been a familiar sight for years but everything looks alien to chan now, with his cock hard in his pants and his fingers wet and sticky and his tongue soaked in jisung’s taste.

there’s a knock at the doorway and, dreamily, chan turns his head.

it’s changbin. “hey… chan… there you are. what-- why are you sitting on the floor?”

“been standing half the night,” the lie comes easily. “wanted to rest.”

changbin accepts it without question. or perhaps he doesn’t and ignores it. “have you seen jisung? he’s the only one i can’t get a hold of.”

and it’s an almost laughable scenario because jisung is right in front of chan but it dawns on him in that moment that changbin cannot see jisung sprawled out half-undressed while he’s standing in the doorway. the couch faces the opposite direction. chan says, “no. i haven’t seen him. not recently.”

changbin points down the hallway. “the band ahead of us just finished their last song. they’re packing up their shit and we’ve gotta get set up soon.”

it’s so easy to lie so chan keeps doing it. “maybe he’s outside? you know jisung likes to walk the block and do his vocal warmups.”

and changbin goes, “oh yeah” like he actually forgot that bit. “he’s cutting it close, though. i’ll circle the building again.” and then he’s gone.

the room goes quiet again.

but only for a few taut seconds. jisung says, “chan?”

“yeah?” chan looks up at him and gasps when he sees jisung on the couch, sliding a finger in and out of his own ass.

he says, “let’s pick up where we left off.”

chan stays where he’s seated. “you can put the plug in on your own now.”

jisung twists his body, gets on his stomach and slides half of his body off of the couch to put his knees on the floor, his thighs caged by his pants. “yeah, but…” he squeezes his ass and pulls his cheeks apart to expose his wet, twitching hole. “i have a better idea,” he murmurs. “one that’ll make us both happy.”

chan presses a palm into his groin to give his cock just a taste of the friction it needs. but he does not want to get his hopes up. “what do you want me to do?”

“fuck me, chan,” jisung demands. he looks over his shoulder at chan and his eyes blaze with lust. “use me. cum in me and plug me up so i can have you onstage with me.” 

and it’s a weird idea but chan practically drools at the thought of it. at the concept of jisung carrying his cum. it’s not something he ever would have suggested on his own but he wants to try it if it’s for jisung.

“hurry, chan,” jisung practically whines. “we only have five minutes.” 

it’s shameful to admit, but as on edge as chan has been all night, as much as he’s been dying for release, he probably won’t even need five minutes. 

“okay,” he says as he stands up. he feels a little weak in the knees, imagining how amazing jisung is going to feel. 

he works his pants off of his hips and pushes them down around his ankles. he yanks down his boxers and cries out when his oversensitive cock springs free. 

“hurry, hurry,” jisung keeps going. he practically pants it out like he can’t catch a deep breath unless he gets a cock in him.

chan hawks up spit, watches it drip down from the tip of his tongue to his cockhead. he grabs hold of his cock, smears the moisture down his length and the pleasure tingles in his ballsack. he can’t recall ever stepping forward but now he’s got his hand pressed flat on the small of jisung’s back to push him into an arch. he squats a little, spreads his ankles as far as his pants will let him, lines the head of his cock up with jisung’s hole and shoves it in with one balls-deep stroke.

it’s a little too much for both of them.

jisung cries out. his hands scramble for purchase on the couch cushions. “oh my god. fuck. fuck!”

chan almost goes dizzy with the new tightness wrapped around his cock. it’s like jisung is wringing his cock dry. he falls forward over jisung’s back and shivers. it feels good. it feels so fucking good. and he’s buried so deep, he thinks he might--

“go,” jisung urges. “go. we don’t have time.”

chan draws his hips back and slams them forward again. 

it’s still too much. he can’t take it. he’s too fucking overwhelmed to move.

jisung grunts out, “for fuck’s sake, bro. i’m not made of glass. fuck me.”

chan’s primal caveman brain takes the reins. chan growls low in his throat and moves on animal instinct. the only way to survive is to breed. he plants both hands on jisung’s lower back for support and then fucks into him hard and fast. god, jisung is so tight. and so warm. chan loses himself in it. in the electric hot sensation. in the sloppy wetness. fucking jisung is fun. it makes him feel so fucking good. it tickles a laugh out of him.

“fuck yeah,” jisung chants in time with chan’s thrusts. “god yeah.” his voice leaves his throat in choppy vibrato as chan’s movements send him rocking.

goddamn. chan has just enough mind to still be able to enjoy the wet slide as he fucks jisung. he has just enough mind to spread his hands, grip jisung’s narrow waist and angle his thrusts like he’s fucking drilling down into jisung.

jisung lets out a high-pitched whine that almost turns into a scream. he slaps his hands over his mouth to muffle himself but it hardly helps. he’s still so loud. anyone can hear him. maybe everyone.

chan speeds up his thrusts. sparks of pleasure jolt through him every time his hips connect with jisung’s ass. he has to do it fast like this, he reasons. they don’t have time to savor it. but going fast feels good. going fast feels right. it gets the muscles of his calves burning. gets his lungs hot from the effort. gets lust and adrenaline sizzling in his veins. gets him gasping out jisung’s name.

“oh, fuck,” jisung whimpers from behind his clamped hands. he tries to slam his hips back to meet chan’s thrusts but his timing is off and he just ends up being tossed forward by chan’s sheer enthusiasm. they both lose their balance as the couch slides across the tiles. precious seconds are wasted as jisung teeters forward on bent knees to catch himself on the floor. chan doesn’t even let him climb back onto the couch so jisung dumps his weight on his elbows and forearms.

with the slightly new position, though, chan can fuck his hips upwards and he can feel the head of his cock drag across jisung’s tight insides. it’s such a tight fucking squeeze. he can’t believe he can get all the way in there. 

it rushes up on him so fast that he almost doesn’t recognize it for what it is. 

the tingling in his balls feels so similar to the impact of his hips against jisung’s ass that it’s impossible to tell the difference until his orgasm is right on top of him. “i’m cumming,” he shakily exhales. and his first instinct is to pull out and cum across jisung’s back, but--

“fill me up,” jisung commands.

anything less would be a waste.

chan has just enough stamina to piston his hips into jisung’s hole three or four more times before his muscles seize and he spills his load deep inside. 

he tries to keep fucking through it but he’s not half as strong as he thinks he is. he half pulls out once and then slams back in and it’s all he can do not to fucking collapse. jisung melts beneath him. his body sags and everything goes loose and chan just wants to stay in there but they only have moments remaining before jisung needs to perform in front of a packed house.

balls heavy with regret but tingly with release, chan slowly pulls out.

“plug me up. quickly,” jisung says. he crawls forward to the couch, grabs the plug from between the cushions and reaches back to hand it to chan.

chan spits on the tapered end of the plug. already, he can see a bit of his cum leak out of jisung’s hole. he uses the end of the plug to scoop it up before it drips too far and, as gently as he can manage, he plugs up jisung’s ass. for a moment, it doesn’t seem like it’ll be able to do the job but when chan has it pressed in to the base, jisung’s hole snatches tight around the end.

“goddamn,” jisung huffs. “i gotta go. i gotta go.” he struggles to get his underwear back on and full-body shudders every time he jostles the plug too hard. he is in a rush so getting his skin-tight jeans on is equally if not even more difficult for him as the tight fit of the material keeps steady pressure on the plug. when jisung manages to get zipped up, chan is absolutely confident his cum will stay where he put it.

chan rolls over onto the floor. he is exhausted. drained. remnants of his orgasm still shake his thighs. “go knock ‘em dead out there,” he says. he gives jisung a thumbs up.

jisung half-wobbles to the door. “i always do.” he disappears into the hallway for several seconds before he pokes his head around the archway. “hurry up. you have to watch me. you have to see what i can do.”

it takes a few seconds for chan to get his flaccid cock back in his boxers, to wriggle around and get his jeans back up around his hips, but he stands and follows jisung out into the hallway. “i won’t miss it for the world.”

  
  


**track 11.**

**outro.**

it’s just shy of two in the morning and the members of miroh are the only patrons left in the bar.

the chairs are arranged how they should be again, the floors are mopped, the tables are wiped down, all of the unnecessary lights are off, the trash has been taken out and the rest of chan’s coworkers have gone home.

the night is quiet beyond the big glass windows. the snow has finally stopped and the city sleeps beneath a blanket of white.

chan takes his eyes off the window and fondly gazes upon the four men in front of him.

the manager says the band have until she finishes her phone call with her girlfriend in the back before she kicks them out but chan doesn’t mind the hold up. he doesn’t mind leaving work a half hour late. he will definitely take his time with them before he walks the group out of the door. he’ll gladly take an earful from his boss later if these guys can end their night on even a microscopically higher note. it’s a tiny amount of grace but it is the most chan can offer them.

“amazing show, as always,” chan compliments them.

“it was fucking lit,” felix agrees.

“we’ve done better,” hyunjin gripes before he takes a swig of his beer.

“i love how much people love our old stuff,” says jeongin as he slides his glasses back up his nose.

“people will love your new stuff too,” chan says.

“if the way they lost their shit when we played the new song is any proof,” changbin adds.

they all look tired, but in the good and comfortable and pleased way. jeongin’s makeup is running and hyunjin’s shirt is still visibly soaked with sweat and felix’s hair dye is dripping down his neck in pastel rivulets and changbin’s spiky hair is now a gelled up monstrosity but they are all still a little beautiful, chan thinks. and not just because he’s made most of them cum tonight.

“oh my fucking god, i can’t wait to be done with this album,” hyunjin complains.

changbin slaps him on the shoulder. “hush. it’s fun.”

hyunjin wheels on him. “you can say that because you’re already done recording all of your shit!”

they bust out laughing.

chan loves how easily the conversation flows. it’s like old times. it’s like being young and growing up together again. nights of crashing on couches and having beers in the garage and all-day jam sessions and performing at block parties. their friendship has survived years and it will hopefully survive more. the future doesn’t have to be frightening, even if chan is afraid of the things he’ll no longer have because of it.

“i’m fucking starving,” jeongin says. “i can’t believe the pizza place is gone. they stayed open late on show nights.”

changbin grunts, “looks like it’s fucking waffle house, then.”

“what the fuck else do you think is open this late?”

“taco bell?”

“my asshole just recovered from taco bell yesterday. let’s not.”

there’s a moment where the talking dies down. chan takes the quiet time to finish cleaning up behind the bar, wipe down tap nozzles, rinse out glasses and hang bar towels to dry. he gulps down the last of his soda and kind of hates that he waited so long that it’s gone flat.

the boys start back up with their jokes. jeongin steals bar nuts out of the little dish that sits in front of changbin and changbin retaliates by stealing jeongin’s glasses off of his nose and putting them on. his eyes are comically magnified beneath the lenses.

felix asks, “you still make music, don’t you, chan?”

“i try,” he answers, not even wanting to think of the folders and folders of unfinished tracks on his laptop at home.

“you should keep going with it,” jeongin encourages. “i’m a sucker for edm.” 

chan sighs. “i just haven’t been getting the album streams i need to make a living off of it.”

“your break will come. like ours,” felix insists.

“can you believe we almost quit this shit,” hyunjin slurs, eyes squeezed shut and cheeks beet red. he can’t hold his alcohol but he is always the first to hit the bar.

changbin finishes the story, “then came the record deal.”

“you guys didn’t tell me about that,” chan pouts. “i feel left out.”

“it’s a silly story,” hyunjin waves it away.

felix says, “trust me, when it happened, we all got a good laugh out of it. because of course things turn around for the better immediately after we discuss setting shit aside.”

“thank fuck i checked my email,” jeongin jokes.

there is a round of drunken laughter and shoulder slapping and it dawns on chan then, as he props his elbows up on the bar and watches their smiles, that nights like these will get rarer and rarer. it’s inevitable and he hates it so fucking much but he loves that he got a little piece of all of them tonight. a keepsake he’ll hold on to for years.

and perhaps the guys will hold onto it too.

chan senses it in the way hyunjin’s hungry eyes watch his movements with laser focus.

chan feels it in the way felix’s hand lingers unnecessarily long on top of his own when he slides the man his last glass of the night.

chan learns it in the salacious way changbin grins at him whenever they lock eyes, like they’re both in on the same secret.

chan experiences it in the way jeongin pulls him to the far end of the bar to take a selfie and chan catches a glimpse at jeongin’s screen and sees that jeongin has changed his contact name to ‘kitten.’

felix spins around on his stool. “is jisung still playing pool by himself?”

the other three spin around on their stools to watch as jisung circles the pool table, pool cue in hand. he takes slow tip-toe steps and his limbs move in stiff jerking motions.

it’s hyunjin that shouts, “are you drunk? you said you’d be dd!”

“i’m not drunk,” jisung hollers back. “just preoccupied!”

and that reminds chan. he gets the attention of the boys and leans over the bar so that he can whisper, “so how big was the bet? what does jisung get for not fucking up the show?”

four sets of confused eyes leer up at him.

“what bet?” felix asks with a raised eyebrow.

“there was a bet,” jeongin wonders. “i didn’t hear shit about a bet.”

“you know,” chan says, “the bet. the dare. you teased him and said he wouldn’t be able to stand it if he went on stage with a--” but chan can’t finish the statement. he can tell by the tilted heads and sidelong glances that no one in miroh knows a goddamn thing about the butt plug.

which means, the plug was entirely jisung’s idea.

felix slams his hand down on the bar. “chan, what are you talking about? what is it?”

hyunjin belches and then says, “don’t leave us hanging.”

“it’s nothing,” chan insists, then he looks across the bar at jisung. at his penguin waddle walk.

the other men look at him too.

“come on, jisung, it’s getting late,” changbin bellows. “we can’t keep chan here till sunrise.”

“yeah, you haven’t sat over here since the show ended,” jeongin adds. “at least have a good chat with chan before we leave.”

“fucking hell, man, i’m almost done,” jisung complains, but in the next breath, he abandons the pool cue on the table to cross the length of the bar towards them. his face is flushed pink and he can’t seem to meet chan’s eye, but that’s perfectly okay.

because when jisung can’t sit down on one of the bar stools without taking his sweet ass time and shivering and getting laughed at by the others, chan grins like a madman because he knows the reason why.


End file.
